


The Art of Perseverance

by iphigenias



Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Homophobia, Kittens, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prom, Slow Build, matchmaker!Renee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Babe had been joking when he said he’d run for Prom Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Perseverance

**Author's Note:**

> i can't actually believe this fic is done. i think it's taken me five months from opening that word doc to here. there are so many ppl to thank: may, for the cafe and kitten names; maddie, for the crash course in the american education system (it's not her fault i didn't listen very well); rocky, for the last-minute translations; and as always, marnie, my beta, sounding board and the wind beneath my wings.
> 
> this fic plays fast and loose with the american education system. pls just suspend your disbelief and allow a smol australian to bulldoze her way through it. a lot of the incorrect stuff in this fic is actually modelled off my own year 12, grad and formal, and i am not sorry for that. just roll with it. 
> 
> the characters are basically 100% band of brothers with a few from the pacific (notably stella) and one blink-and-you'll-miss-it ref to gen kill. i don't know why i wrote it like that ?? also sorry about cobb being the bad guy but i needed one and he was there. i do love you cobb, rlly.
> 
> there are probs a lot of inconsistencies in this fic since i wrote 30k then took a 3 month break before writing the last 7k so apologies if it's jumpy. translations can be found in the end notes
> 
> this fic is based upon the fictional representations of the characters in the hbo war miniseries. no disrespect is intended towards the real men.
> 
>  **warnings:** homophobic slurs and comments, mentions of alzheimer's, disgusting fluff
> 
>  **edit:** this fic now has a [mixtape](https://8tracks.com/pretentieuxtitre/the-art-of-perseverance-1) to listen to while reading!! made by the amazing [gene](http://jadziad.tumblr.com/) for my 18th b'day, ily xx

" _Hearts are rather persistent. They have learned the art of perseverance. They keep beating. They keep carrying on._ "

\- Akif Kichloo

  

***

 

Babe had been joking when he said he’d run for prom queen. It was a spur of the moment thing, a throwaway comment he was sure people would laugh at, and then forget. And for the most part, everyone did forget.

Except George Luz, of course, because George Luz forgets nothing.

So here Babe is, tacking up a badly Photoshopped poster of himself as Kate Middleton, wanting the ground to swallow him up because, for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he’d been joking. _He’d been fucking joking._

George Luz can be very persuasive.

“I still don’t understand why you went for Kate,” Luz is saying behind him, and Babe has to use every ounce of his self-control to not turn around and staple the next poster onto George’s forehead. “I mean, she’s not even a princess. Is she? I dunno. I just don’t know why you went for Kate when you could’ve gone all out and used Queen Lizzie herself.”

“Gee, I dunno George,” Babe forces out between gritted teeth. “Don’t think an eighty-year-old monarch is exactly the look I’m going for.”

Babe doesn’t know how, because his back’s still turned, but he can practically _hear_ Luz shrug; a full-bodied movement that is one hundred percent annoying, and frustratingly endearing at the same time. That’s George Luz for you. He can be a right bastard when he puts his mind to it, but it’s virtually impossible not to get sucked in by his charm at one point or another. In fact, that charm is probably the reason Babe’s standing here today, tacking up these godforsaken posters instead of enjoying the mystery meat special in the cafeteria, like any normal person would be doing.

Of course, Luz isn’t in the cafeteria either, but there’s not a single person in the whole of Toccoa High who would be stupid enough to call Luz _normal_.

 Babe finishes stapling the final poster to the noticeboard outside the admin office and turns to face Luz, who is busy defacing another girl’s poster. Babe recognises it as Kitty Grogan’s, and thinks that Luz is gonna regret it once Harry finds out. The latter might be small, but he’s scrappy in a fight. Babe feels worried for a second, before remembering what a dick Luz has been to him today, and concludes that he doesn’t really care.

“You done?” he sighs, as Luz puts the final flourishes on what it truly a majestic moustache Kitty has now acquired. “I don’t fancy going to French on an empty stomach.”

George rolls his eyes but, for once, stays silent, and follows Babe to the cafeteria. The corridor walls are papered with prom posters, and Babe has to look away every time he glimpses his own. He still cannot believe Luz talked him into this, and he says as much as they enter the crowded mess hall.

“Talked you into this?” Luz repeats incredulously as they join the queue. “This was your idea, if I remember correctly.”

“Luz.” Babe stops him with a hand on his arm and rolls his eyes. “I was _off my face_. And it was a _joke_. Everyone else seemed to realise that, you know.”

Luz shrugs Babe’s hand off and continues down the line. He smiles winningly at Mrs. Robinson, the cafeteria lady, who smiles toothlessly back and gives him an extra serving of the special. “Say what you will, Heffron,” he says loftily, “But we’re all in the know about that not-so-little crush you have on Mr. Prom King over there, so what’s the harm in doing a little matchmaking, hmm?”

Babe follows George’s gaze and feels a familiar swooping sensation in his gut, the one he always gets whenever Gene Roe walks past, laughs, or breathes. He’s currently sitting with Renee, as per usual, and though he’s always been one of the quietest guys in the cohort, everyone seems to know him. Not just that—everyone seems to love him. He’s basically a shoe-in for Prom King, not because he’s a grade-A dick like they usually are, but because he’s _nice_. He’s so fucking nice it makes Babe want to scream. How can a human being even _pretend_ to be as perfect as Gene Roe actually is?

It’s a question which defies the laws of both physics and nature, and one which Babe has been trying to answer ever since twelve-year-old Eugene had moved from Louisiana to Fort Benning Middle School, and sat next to Babe during his very first History class there.

( _Can I please borrow a pen?_ Babe remembers Gene asking that day, his voice unfairly deep for a twelve-year-old. If he hadn’t known he was bi before then—ever since Bill had kissed him on a dare at his tenth birthday party—eleven-year-old Babe would certainly have realised that fact very quickly.)

“You call it matchmaking,” Babe grumbles as they find their way to their seats, “I call it meddling. And embarrassing. And utterly humilia—”

“All right, all right, keep your pants on.” Luz slides into a seat opposite Babe, who drops down beside Julian with a sigh.

“Who’s taking his pants off?” Bill asks, and Babe groans, burying his head in his hands. He feels Bill reach around Julian to give Babe a commiserating pat on the back. “Heffron’s in over his head again, is he? What’s the matter this time? No, wait, lemme guess: tall, dark and handsome, cute Southern drawl, a smile to die for and _oh, Dear Diary, the things I’d let him do to me with his hands! I do declare_ —”

“Fuck off,” Babe says through his hands, and Bill laughs.

“Sorry kiddo,” he says, and even though Babe’s only six months younger, Bill somehow manages not to make the condolence sound patronising.

“S’all right,” Babe sighs, lifting his head and staring gloomily down at his tray. “I’ve already resigned myself to my future as a crazy old cat lady, nothin’ you say can make it any worse than it already is.”

There’s an awkward lull in the conversation then, and Babe feels his throat dry up. He shoves a forkful of mystery meat into his mouth to try and break the tension.

“Well,” Luz says, clearing his throat. “Heffron’s campaign posters are lookin’ mighty fine, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, cos you made ‘em,” Perco laughs, and everyone else joins in. It’s not at Babe’s expense, for which he is grateful, but he’d really rather talk about something _other_ than prom right now. He’d rather talk about _anything_ else, actually. Molecular physics. The lifespan of a butterfly. Something. _Any_ thing.

“ _I_ wanted a nice, dignified pic of Queen Elizabeth, you know? Could really see Babe rocking a perm. But _Babe_ said _no, George, I will not have my campaign associated with a geriatric, even if she is royalty._ Talk about harsh.”

“Who’d you end up going for, then?” O’Keefe, an awkward guy who started at Toccoa his senior year and never seems to know anything, asks.

“ _Kate Middleton_ ,” Luz says dramatically, swooning. “She’s a fine-looking broad, I’ll give you that, but she ain’t got nothin’ on good old Lizzie.”

“Give it a rest, wouldja?” Babe says suddenly, the impingement on Kate’s honour the final straw. The conversation dies down abruptly, and Luz looks as though he might finally have realised he’s taken it a step too far.

“I didn’t—” he begins, but Babe stands suddenly and cuts him off.

“It’s fine, don’t apologise.” He swallows around the obstruction in his throat and wonders whether it’s too late to go back for seconds. Probably. “I really appreciate your help with the posters. They wouldn’t have looked half as good without you. But I think I might—I think I’m just gonna go to class.” Babe gives a cursory wave over his shoulder as he heads out of the cafeteria, and for the first time in his life is grateful that out of his circle of friends, he was the only one stupid enough to pick a senior French class.

 

***

 

Of course, being one of the few students who takes French means that Babe has to survive an hour and a half of sitting next to his big, stupid crush, which is simultaneously the best and worst time of Babe’s week.

The best because he gets to sit next to _Gene fucking Roe_ , is on the receiving end of too many of those gentle smiles to count, and sometimes can actually hold a conversation with the guy without melting into a puddle of goo. (Sometimes.)

The worst because he gets to sit next to _Gene fucking Roe_ , and more often than not Babe makes a bumbling mess out of himself during their conversations, and on occasion has been genuinely terrified by the possibility that his heart may very well beat right out of his chest at the pace it’s going. Not to mention that Renee sits on Gene’s other side, and even though Babe knows they’re not an item—the whole damn _school_ knows this after Renee stood on top of a table in the cafeteria one day and said in a loud, thickly accented voice that _we’re both gay, thank you very much, so quit stereotyping_ —he can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy whenever Gene talks to her, and not him. It’s stupid, and so fifth-grade, but then again so are crushes, the most colossal of which Babe is currently nursing.

He really, _really_ needs to get a life. One which preferably doesn’t involve debilitating crushes—or, at least, a life in an alternate universe where said crush turns out to be reciprocated, because there’s no way that’s even a remote possibility here. Sure, Babe knows for a fact that he’s not too bad-looking, and he definitely counts Gene as one of his friends, but there’s a difference between _not bad-looking_ and downright _handsome_ , and a long jump from _friends_ to _something more_. Babe figured this out a long time ago, but knowing it’s never going to happen doesn’t magically make his crush go away.

In fact, it probably makes it worse.

Welcome to Babe’s world.

Today, because he left the cafeteria before the bell, Babe is early to class, which is something that almost never happens. He loiters outside the door for a little while, but then the teacher spots him and gestures for him to come inside, so he does.

French class isn’t bad, per se. It’s not like Babe’s abysmal at the language. It’s just that everyone else who takes it is better than him. Not really the best self-esteem boost to feel happy at receiving a B on the latest exam, only to realise that everyone else was in the A range.

Suffice to say, French is _not_ Babe’s strong point.

So he waits, slightly awkwardly, for the rest of the class too arrive, not comfortable enough to initiate conversation with the teacher, who also seems content ignoring him. Gene and Renee walk through the door only a minute or so later, and Babe shoots them a grateful smile. He’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment when Gene brushes against him to reach his own seat, but that’s pretty much a regular occurrence these days. You’d think that with prolonged exposure, maybe these involuntary flutters would eventually go away altogether, but they seem only to have increased as time’s gone by.

Renee gives Babe a conspiratorial smile over Gene’s shoulder as the latter is distracted retrieving his pencil case from his bag, and Babe tries hard not to blush. They’ve never explicitly talked about it, but Babe is about one hundred and twelve percent sure that Renee knows about his crush. Whether or not she’s told Gene is a matter that Babe agonises over on a regular basis, but judging by Gene’s oblivious smiles whenever Babe acts like a complete and utter love-struck fool in front of him, his secret is safe with Renee.

He’s not sure whether this is a good or bad thing.

“Didn’t pick you as the prom queen type.” Gene’s heady drawl breaks into Babe’s thoughts, making him jump. “I saw the posters,” Gene clarifies, and Babe feels the blush return with a vengeance. “Very…postmodern.”

“You mean shit,” Babe laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds wrong, all harsh and grating. He tries for a smile that doesn’t look like it’s been tortured out of him. “Blame Luz. For everything, actually—the posters and the prom queen thing to begin with. It was never my idea—”

“I like them,” Gene says simply, cocking his head to the side, and Babe tries hard not to whimper. “I think you’d make a good prom queen.”

“You’re not—” Babe searches for the right words. “You’re don’t think I should be going for prom king instead? You’re all right with—with this?”

Renee interrupts before Gene can reply, though by the sparkle in his eyes, he agrees with what she’s saying. “Gender roles are a social construct,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think prom queen should be limited to girls and prom king to boys. They’re not even the only two genders out there. If you want to wear a tiara and be led through a slow dance then I’m not going to stop you.” She leans back in her chair and shrugs. “I’ll vote for you.”

“Um—thanks?” Babe, still flummoxed by her sudden outburst, blinks rapidly.

“I will too,” Gene says softly, voice sincere, and Babe catches his breath. “You’d make a good prom queen.”

 _And then you’ll be prom king and maybe, just maybe, real life will be like a fairy tale._ Babe pushes the ridiculous thought to the back of his mind and just smiles, suddenly not bothered by the subject of prom now that it’s Gene who’s talking about it.

The teacher asks for the class to quiet down then, and starts the lesson. Gene and Renee are attentive as usual, Babe slightly less so (distracted as he is by Gene’s jawline) but every so often Gene will lift his gaze from his notebook and direct it at Babe, and even though he might not be smiling, there’s something in his eyes that makes Babe warm and happy all the same.

 

***

 

 _FAG_ is scrawled in angry red lettering across Babe’s locker the next day. He supposes he should have expected a backlash like this—Toccoa is a comprehensive high school, after all, and as liberal and accepting most of its students are, there will always be some who aren’t so open-minded. Even so, the graffiti really hits home for Babe, and he stands in the hallway for a long time just staring at it, ignoring the whispers—and giggles—of other students as they walk past and see the damage done. Since French class yesterday he’d had a spring in his step, and now this.

Now this.

Babe swallows, forcing himself to open the locker and retrieve the books he needs from inside. When he shuts it again, he jumps about three feet in the air because suddenly Gene is standing _right there_ , and he looks pissed.

“Hey.” Babe tries for nonchalance, but misses by about a mile. Gene’s eyes are narrowed, and his gaze rests firmly on the graffiti.

“Who did this?” he asks, voice uncharacteristically sharp, and Babe swallows again, only this time to stop himself from blurting out something stupid, like _I don’t know but it’s true and do you wanna go to prom with me?_

“If I knew, that’s where I’d be,” Babe says lightly, but Gene doesn’t smile. “Come on, it’s just a prank. Don’t worry about it.”

“Edward—” he begins, and Babe winces. That name is a relic from his middle school days, when he’d excitedly told it to Gene his first day there, and has regretted it ever since.

“Seriously, Gene. _It’s fine._ Sticks and stones, and all that.”

Gene doesn’t look convinced—in fact he looks downright murderous, and that shouldn’t be attractive at _all_ but somehow, God help him, it is—but lets himself be dragged gently away by Babe, who still feels kind of shitty about the whole thing, only he doesn’t want to show it.

“You have Calc, right?” Babe asks, only looking to make conversation because he’s known Gene’s timetable since before he knew his own. And _no_ , that’s not _creepy, Luz, it’s practical._ What if Gene woke up one day and suddenly forgot what class he had? Babe would be right there to tell him.

“Yeah,” Gene says belatedly, looking distracted, and Babe hopes to God Gene never finds out who’s responsible for the graffiti, because they will seriously _regret_ picking up that can of spray paint. Gene may look nice and soft and friendly—and he is, he really is, most of the time—but Babe was there the day he and Renee came out publicly to the school, he was there that same day when sophomore Gene beat the shit out of a senior for fondling Renee, and he was there to help Gene wipe the blood off of his bruised and red raw knuckles.

An angry Gene Roe is not a Gene Roe Babe would ever want to get on the bad side of, and he just wishes other people realised that before it was too late.

“That’s cool,” Babe finally says, when he can form the words. “I have Physics. I guess I’ll see you later? At lunch?”

Gene ignores what Babe just said and instead turns to face him, eyebrows knitted together. “I’m gonna figure out who did this, okay? I’ll take care of ‘em.”

“I can take care of myself, Gene,” Babe says softly, and suddenly it feels as if this conversation is about a lot more than just graffiti—Babe only wishes he knew what.

“I know you can,” Gene replies, just as softly, his voice gentle again. “Doesn’t mean you have to.” He gives Babe one of his small, solemn smiles that somehow feel more precious than the toothy grins he hands out freely, and heads down the corridor towards the Math classroom. Babe watches him until he rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

 

***

 

“Hey, faggot.”

“Picked out your dress yet, _Babe?_ ”

“Where’s your boyfriend, homo? Is he tired of you always taking it up the ass?”

For the rest of the day, Babe is subjected to hearing these stellar insults on a regular basis. They’re whispered to him as he walks down the corridors, yelled out to him in the cafeteria at lunch, passed to him on little folded-up notes in class that he scrunches up and wishes he could set on fire. Babe should’ve expected it, really. He didn’t come out, per se, but running for prom queen and having your campaign posters feature your face Photoshopped onto the body of Britain’s sweetheart isn’t exactly subtle. He’s surprised it took this long for the rest of the school to figure it out, actually, after all the moping he’s done over Gene in recent years.

What Babe didn’t expect, though, is to be joined by both Gene and Renee at his lunch table. He’s in the middle of a conversation with Perco about the merits and drawbacks of different toothpaste brands when Gene drops down on one side of him, Renee on the other, and proceed to eat their lunch as if nothing has changed.

Everybody stares.

Perco stops mid-rant about the advantages of Colgate versus Crest, and blinks, long and slow. Julian takes a loud and noisy slurp of his milk. Bill and Joe Toye exchange raised-eyebrow glances, and Luz looks like it’s fucking Christmas come early. The rest of the group are in varying states of surprise.

Gene grimaces around a mouthful of mystery meat, and Renee pokes dubiously at her mashed vegetables with a fork, but neither of them offer any explanation as to what they’re doing and why. Babe just looks between them bemusedly, his heart doing a funny kind of salsa inside his ribcage, before resuming his conversation. (Crest is where it’s at, okay, no other toothpaste brand has done for Babe what it has.)

After a while, the conversation changes topics, and Gene and Renee both begin to contribute. Babe’s never seen either of them so relaxed before—he usually only ever talks to them during class, where they’re attentive and studious, so seeing them like this almost makes him double take.

Gene makes jokes. Gene makes jokes and they’re _funny_. Babe accidentally snorts his milk during a punchline, and everyone only ends up laughing harder as Renee thumps him heavily on the back. Even Luz lets Gene talk, and he’s usually the one who interrupts everyone else to make his own wisecracks.

Babe is strangely, oddly proud of the way his group of friends have accepted Gene and Renee. It’s not like they’ve never talked to each other before, but this, this is something different, this is something more than _acquaintances_ and getting suspiciously close to _friendship_.

Babe is strangely, oddly proud, that is, until Luz obviously decides that he’s remained silent long enough. He clears his throat, waggles his eyebrows, and Babe feels his heart sink like the fucking Titanic.

“So, Gene,” he begins, twirling the straw he used to drink his milk. “Rumour has it you’re running for prom king.”

Gene blinks quickly and shrugs a little. “I haven’t really thought about it—” he begins, but is interrupted by Renee, who despite being pretty and petite and outwardly ladylike, is actually more akin to a steamroller than a French schoolgirl.

“Of course he is,” she says, her accent thick, like it always is whenever she’s passionate about something. “We’re putting up his posters tomorrow, actually.”

“The real question is whether those posters will be on par with prom queen’s over here.” Luz nods to him and Babe tries to hide his blush. “Too many hours went into making those. Luckily my considerable Photoshop skills and technological prowess were—”

“The posters are great, Luz,” Babe interrupts, clearing his throat. “We get it, thanks.”

“I dunno if you do, Babe,” Luz says, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that Babe doesn’t like one bit. “See, if your posters are the most awesome, and Gene’s are just a little less awesome but still great, then logically you’ll be the ones people will vote for. A good campaigner needs a good election campaign, like my dad always says.”

“Your dad is an _electrician_ ,” Babe hisses, but it’s too late. Renee has latched onto Luz’s idea like a fish on a hook, and Babe closes his eyes to the thought of _so this is how I die._

“Wouldn’t it be amazing,” she sighs, sounding almost wistful, and for some reason Babe feels Gene stiffen beside him, “If they _both_ won? Prom king and prom queen, Eugene and Edward.”

Bill hacks out a laugh which turns into a suspicious-sounding cough when Babe cracks an eye open and glares at him. He would very much like to be anywhere but here right now. Antarctica, maybe, or the Sahara—anywhere he could escape this train wreck of a conversation.

“Well, I know who I’m voting for,” Luz grins, giving Babe an unsubtle, ‘conspiratorial’ wink. Babe resists the urge to bang his head on the table as the rest of his friends make varying noises of assent. Gene also makes a small noise, but it’s not anything Babe can interpret without a visual, and right now there is no _way_ he is making eye contact with Gene. He’d probably do something stupid, like tangle his fingers in his hair or kiss him full on the mouth. Or both. Babe’s not fussed, really.

And then, like a godsend, the bell goes. Babe lurches to his feet, intent on racing to the English classroom before anyone can approach him with ludicrous questions, like _why is your face so goddamn red?_ Unfortunately, it seems as though Gene had the same idea (though obviously not the exact same, Gene’s face is as pale as it always is, as pale and as beautiful) and, as if in slow motion, Babe sees Gene’s feet get tangled up in his own, their knees knocking together, and their heads colliding with a sharp and painful impact. Babe reaches out to steady himself, to keep himself from falling over entirely, except the only thing within grabbing distance is Gene’s shoulder, and oh, oh God, he really did that, he _really_ grabbed Gene’s shoulder, and not only that but he grabbed and _pulled,_ and suddenly they’re a lot closer together than Babe can ever remember them being.

Gene’s eyes are impossible, Babe finds himself thinking, mere inches away. They’re blue and green and grey and brown all at once.

Someone—maybe Bill, maybe Renee—clears their throat then, and Babe whips his hand back as if burned. Gene is looking at him, and there’s something in his mostly inscrutable gaze that terrifies Babe, making him go hot and cold all over.

“Sorry,” Babe manages to blurt out, not meeting anyone else’s eyes, before tearing his gaze away from Gene’s and racing from the cafeteria. He realises, belatedly, that both Luz and Bill are in the same English class as him, but maybe if he gets there early and they get there late, there won’t be time for awkward conversations.

Probably not.

 

***

 

“So. Babe. Care to tell us about that little _incident_ during lunch?”

Babe suppresses a sigh as Bill sits down on one side of him, Luz on the other, face open and expectant. “You know, I’d really rather not,” he tells them, and pretends to be busy sorting out the books on his desk. He sees Bill and Luz exchange glances out of the corner of his eye. “Seriously, you think you guys could give it a rest? I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You _never_ want to do this,” Luz says under his breath, but Bill claps Babe on the back and grins.

“Sure thing, kiddo. Whenever you’re ready.”

Sometimes, Babe really loves Bill.

The rest of the English lesson passes without fanfare, and at the end of the day Babe follows Bill out into the student parking lot, headed for the shitty blue Mazda Bill had saved up for last year. They find the way to the car blocked, however, by an ominous crowd of students huddled together on the middle of the asphalt, jeering and yelling and oh, God, this better not be what Babe thinks it is.

He pushes his way to the front of the crowd, blocking his ears to the raucous yells of “ _fight! Fight! Fight!_ ” and swears loudly and violently when he sees just who is fighting who.

Gene is tangled up on the ground with a guy Babe only knows as Cobb, and they’re both so bloody and bruised Babe can’t tell who’s winning. Gene has a split lip and a black eye, and just like that day two years ago his knuckles are purple and red raw, but the whole left side of Cobb’s face is slick with blood, and from the way he’s holding himself it looks like he might’ve cracked a rib. Babe glances across the circle and meets Renee’s eyes, which are narrowed in fury. Her knuckles are bleeding, too, but she’s being held back by another girl Babe vaguely remembers as being Australian. She doesn’t look happy about it, that much Babe can tell. He looks back to Gene and Cobb, who are still tussling on the ground, and at the moment Cobb gets in a mean left hook to the underside of Gene’s jaw, accompanied by a hoarse shout of “ _fag,_ ” Babe sees red.

He launches into the fight, pushing Gene out of the way, and hurls his own punch at Cobb, who ducks and knees Babe in the stomach. Babe doubles over, and out of the corner of his eye sees Bill getting ready to intervene, but before he can a sharp and familiar voice cuts through the fray, effectively silencing the fifty or so students gathered around the fight.

“What in the hell is going on?” Principal Sink asks, red-faced and furious, as the crowd parts like the Red Sea to let him in. His gaze sweeps over Babe, who’s still clutching his stomach, rests on Cobb for a moment, who spits a mouthful of blood onto the asphalt and avoids eye contact, before falling on Gene, who is crouched by Renee’s feet and looks like he’s made up of more bruise than skin. “You three. My office. Now,” Sink commands, before catching sight of Renee’s bloody knuckles and ordering her to come along as well. “And the rest of you, clear out!”

Bill helps Babe straighten out, looking worried. “M’fine,” Babe slurs slightly, ignoring the pain in his stomach. “M’not even bleedin’. Go home, Bill. I’ll see you there.”

Bill looks like he wants to say something, but at a quelling look from Sink just turns away and heads slowly towards his car. Babe hobbles over to where Renee is helping Gene to his feet, and the three of them follow Sink together, Cobb a little ways behind.

“What happened?” Babe asks in a hushed voice, keeping one eye on Sink and one eye on Gene’s bloody face.

“He were braggin’ ‘bout it in class,” Gene replies, Louisianan accent thick like butter. “Th’ graffiti. Loud enou’ for us t’ hear. An’ he called you—” His voice breaks and he glances away. Babe’s heart is beating painfully in his chest.

“He called you some not very nice things,” Renee continues softly, her gaze gentle as it rests on Babe. “He was not kind to me and Gene, either. Je le déteste.” _I hate him._ Babe glances back over his shoulder at Cobb, and wants to punch him all over again. Renee does not make judgements about people easily; for her to truly hate Cobb, he must have said some truly awful things.

They reach Sink’s office and he calls Cobb in first. While they wait, Babe pulls a tissue from his bag and brings it close to Gene’s face. “Can I?” he asks softly, and Gene nods. Babe slowly wipes away the blood from Gene’s lip and forehead, trying to be as gentle as possible. His hand is shaking.

“Thought I was mean’ t’ be th’ doctor,” Gene murmurs while the tissue skates across his lips, and Babe can feel the words form beneath his hand. He smiles. He didn’t think Gene had remembered after all these years—remembered the war games they used to play at recess in middle school, where Babe was a soldier and Gene was his doc. They seem like a lifetime ago—before Renee moved here from France, before Bill switched schools to be with Babe, before Gene became a person Babe simply smiled at in the corridor, rather than make conversation with.

“Even medics need to be taken care of once in a while,” Babe says softly, and Gene’s eyes when they land on him are big and blue and vulnerable, his lashes quivering. Babe forgets about Renee, forgets about Sink, forgets about the blood on Gene’s lips and the metallic taste they’re bound to have, and instead simply leans forward, slowly, eyes locked on Gene’s, leaving him room to back away—

The door opens with a bang and they jump apart. Cobb walks out, sitting by himself on the other side of the room, and Sink calls Gene inside. Babe doesn’t say a word as Gene unfolds himself from his chair and closes the door behind him.

The tissue is wet and red with blood, clutched tightly in Babe’s fist.

He and Renee wait in companionable silence, but after a few minutes Renee links her fingers through Babe’s free hand and squeezes. He squeezes back gratefully, and she smiles.

They wait.

Gene spends more time with Sink than Cobb did, but he eventually re-emerges and tells Babe to go in. Babe squares his shoulders and enters, swallowing heavily at the sight of Sink’s imposing figure seated behind his desk. “So. Edward,” Sink begins, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the desk, as if in prayer. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

Babe nods shakily and begins the story from the moment he’d gotten to school that morning and seen the graffiti. He tries to keep his voice neutral, but when he describes first seeing the fight unfolding, he has a feeling that he’s failing miserably. “Then he called Gene a—a fag,” Babe spits the word out, feeling dirty saying it. “And I couldn’t take it anymore. This school is meant to be a safe haven from whatever the hell happens to people at home, but for me and Gene and Renee, and everyone else who’s brave—or stupid—enough to be themselves, it’s not.” Babe laughs harshly, and the sound is rusty, like old nails. “It’s the opposite, actually.”

Sink’s gaze is inscrutable as it rests on Babe. “And you really think Roy deserved being hurt by three separate people, do you?”

It takes Babe a few seconds to realise that Roy is actually Cobb. “No-one deserves to be beat up, sir,” Babe says through his teeth. “But no-one deserves to come to school terrified just because they’re different, either.”

Sink nods and notes something down on the paper in front of him. “That will be all, Edward. If you could send in Miss Lemaire, please?”

Babe gets jerkily to his feet and leaves the office, nodding to Renee that it’s her turn. When he sits down beside Gene, neither of them say a word. The bloody tissue is still in Babe’s hand.

Sink deals with Renee quickly, and then calls all four of them inside. They stand in front of his desk, hands behind their back or by their sides, and Babe feels like a soldier who’s just been court-martialled. Sink stares at each of them for a long time before clearing his throat and standing as well.

“This school does not tolerate violence, no matter the reason behind it.” He looks directly at Gene when he says this, and Babe feels proud of his friend for meeting Sink’s gaze head-on. “But under no circumstances do we tolerate, endorse, or ignore bullying, either.” His gaze shifts to Cobb. “You will each receive a month’s detention after school, three days a week. Letters will be written home to your parents, informing them of your actions today.” This time, Sink looks at Babe, and his gaze isn’t intimidating at all. “However, I see no reason whatsoever to ban any of you from your prom campaigns. Indeed if I did, then I would be no better than the bullies.” Sink sits back down and shuffles the papers on his desk into some kind of order. “I never want to see anything like this happen again, are we clear?” They all nod fervently. “Dismissed.”

As soon as they’re out of Sink’s office, Cobb is off like a shot, and Babe watches him go. “Wonder what he said to Sink,” Babe says softly, and Renee snorts.

“Who cares? This was all his fault anyway.” She yawns and stretches, hefting her backpack over one shoulder. “Either of you need a lift home?” Gene shakes his head and Babe follows suit. Renee shrugs. “See you tomorrow then. _Adieu_.” She races off down the hallway, Gene and Babe following at a more sedate pace until they reach the parking lot, where it all started.

“This is me,” Gene says softly when they get to the bike rack, and he unlocks the chain from around an old-fashioned blue bicycle which suits him perfectly. “You sure you’re right to get home?”

“I’m fine, Gene, seriously.” Babe watches him swing a leg over the seat and tries to think of something, _anything_ to say that could express how grateful Babe is to have him as a friend. “Thanks,” is all he manages, and blushes slightly when Gene tilts his head quizzically at Babe. “For sticking up for me, you know. For being there.”

Gene laughs softly, and it’s a laugh which sounds as though it has a secret. “Just returnin’ the favour, Edward.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” Gene replies, adjusting the straps on his backpack and gripping his handlebars tightly, “That you been stickin’ up for me since the day I moved here. Only fair that I do the same for you.” With that, Gene is off, pedalling hard out of the parking lot and not looking back once. Babe stares after him as he cycles down the street, stares at the long, lean lines of his back and the wiry muscles in his arms, and thinks that if befriending the new kid is what Gene calls _sticking up_ , then Babe is more than happy to keep sticking up for Gene for the rest of their lives.

 

***

 

The next day is a Friday, which means Babe has to try harder than ever to drag himself from bed when his alarm sounds in the morning. His stomach’s still a little sore from getting walloped yesterday, but it’s nothing to how he knows Gene will be feeling, so he doesn’t say anything to his family about it over breakfast. In fact, he doesn’t really say anything at all; when he’d come home late yesterday, Bill had obviously spilled the beans about what had happened, and Babe had been on the receiving end of one of the more serious conversations he’d ever had with his folks.

“We’ll love you no matter what, honey,” his ma had said, her eyes small and watery. She wears a crucifix around her neck and drags the family to church every Sunday like clockwork, so maybe that’s why Babe had never told her about liking boys as well as girls; but deep down he thinks he knew that she’s a Catholic who prizes love, family and commitment above all else, and wouldn’t care who her children fell for, as long as they were good and kind and caring.

Gene is all of those things and more, and Babe’s ma has known that for a while, ever since her little boy came home from middle school one day, bragging about his new best friend.

Despite his parents’ loving acceptance of his sexuality, the atmosphere at the breakfast table is still embarrassingly awkward—it’s not every day someone sitting at it reveals one of their innermost secrets, after all—so Babe scarfs his food as quickly as possible and races out the door to Bill’s car with only a cursory goodbye.

The Guarneres and the Heffrons have lived next door to each other for as long as Babe can remember, and in some ways that proximity is both a blessing and a curse. Babe’s never had to bother with the school bus, because even before Bill got his licence one of their older siblings was always around to drive them, and he’s never had to deal with the boredom that comes with arriving at school alone.

On the down side, Bill is one of the nosiest, cheekiest, most gossip-spreading fuckers Babe has ever had the (mis)fortune to meet, so it’s no surprise that the second he slides into the shotgun seat and closes the door behind him, Bill is turning with a completely shit-eating grin on his face, eyebrows raised as if to indicate a question.

“Well?” Bill prompts, when Babe pretends to miss the glaringly obvious signal to talk. “How was The Talk?”

“Which do you mean?” Babe asks tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “The one from Sink or the one from my ‘rents? Because they were both equally terrifying, thanks for that.”

When he finally looks over to where Bill is putting the car into gear, he is met with a commiserating glance. “I had to tell them where you were, they were worried sick,” Bill says imploringly, reversing out of the driveway and onto the relatively quiet suburban street.

“Could’ve made something up,” Babe says petulantly, but now he’s just being childish. He lets out a sigh and settles back into the car seat. “Sink was all right, gave all of us a month’s detention, but he’s still letting me and Gene run for prom, so that’s okay, I guess. All Dad cared about was how well I did in the fight, and Ma just said she didn’t mind—you know, that I’m into guys. Which was. Good,” he finishes haltingly, uncomfortable with discussing this with Bill, who’s known for a while that Babe’s bisexual, but has never conducted an explicit conversation on the subject.

There’s a tense silence for a moment, and then Bill brakes at a STOP sign, looks over at Babe, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “ _Me and Gene,_ ” he parrots, and Babe thumps him in the chest while the car’s still stationary.

“Fuck off,” he says, but without heat, and the awkwardness dissipates as quickly water on a hot day. Bill just laughs and accelerates across the intersection.

They get to school relatively early, which is the only reason why Babe spots Renee doing some sort of covert ops mission, running in a crouched position around the main entrance of the school. Babe shoots Bill a confused look and they both hop out of the car, jogging over to where she’s struggling with what looks like a pile of posters.

Oh, God.

They’re Gene’s campaign posters.

Babe feels his face heat up as they reach Renee and can properly see the design she’s printed out onto the shitty school paper. It’s Gene’s face, a photo that’s caught him mid-laugh, and he looks drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous, but it’s been edited onto the body of a man who looks suspiciously like—

Oh, God.

Gene’s face is Photoshopped onto the body of Prince William. _Renee_ has Photoshopped _Gene_ onto _Prince William_ , with the very real and very obvious intention of matching the posters to Babe’s own of Kate Middleton.

Oh, God. Babe’s posters and Gene’s posters match. _They fucking match_. If Gene hasn’t already figured out the monumental, humiliating and debilitating crush Babe has on him, there’s no way he’ll miss it now.

While Bill is busy pissing himself laughing, Babe clears his throat and waits for Renee to meet his eyes. “Does, uh—does Gene know about this? The posters, I mean.”

Renee grins, Bill laughs even harder, and Babe hates them both very much. “If you’re asking whether he knows the specifics about the poster _design_ , then no. I said I’d surprise him.”

“But now he’s gonna think—”

“Think what?” Renee divvies out half of the posters to Bill along with a massive ball of Blu-Tack, and sends him on his laughing way. “That you’ve been head over heels for him since God knows when?”

Babe knew, of course, on a superficial level, that Renee, you know, _knew_ , but hearing her verbalise something Babe’s been trying to ignore for the past six or so years is a rude shock to the system. “I don’t—I, um, don’t…”

“Oh _chéri_ ,” Renee sighs, reaching out a small, warm hand to cup Babe’s jaw. “Believe me when I say that he’s not going to be as horrified as you think he will be when he finds out.”

Babe processes this for a moment. “What the hell does that mean?” he wonders aloud, but Renee has already moved on, posters in hand, and by now enough people have trickled into the school for their conversation to no longer be private. He continues mulling over Renee’s words—surely she didn’t mean that what Babe feels for Gene is _mutual_ , because that’s impossible—and is so caught up in his own thoughts that he jumps about a mile into the air when a hand lands on his shoulder and someone says, “Edward,” in a soft, smiling voice.

When Babe turns around Gene is standing there, his hair blown artfully in the wind, looking like he’s just stepped off the cover of some hipster magazine despite the swollen lip and bruised eye. Babe manages a nervous smile; he swears, one day Gene Roe will be the _death_ of him. “Hey,” he greets, trying for nonchalance. “How’re you feeling?”

“Been better,” Gene laughs, gaze moving to above Babe’s left shoulder. His eyes widen slightly, making Babe whip around, and _oh, shit, he’s been standing right in front of one of Renee’s posters._ One of _Gene’s_ posters. Babe closes his eyes for a brief moment and prays for deliverance.

“I see we match,” is what Gene finally says, his voice unreadable, and Babe’s heart plummets.

“Yeah,” he laughs awkwardly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Stupid really—and not my idea. At all. Just—so you know, you know?” _Fuck._

Gene’s expression grows even more inscrutable as his gaze flickers from Babe to the poster and back again. “Yeah,” he says softly, and there’s something about his voice that doesn’t sit right with Babe. “Stupid.” He clears his throat and glances away. “We have French first, right?”

“Um, yeah,” Babe says, sounding like a fucking broken record, but honestly, who can blame him? “I think Renee’s off—somewhere, um, hanging up your posters, so. We could wait for her, or—”

“Knowin’ her, she’s printed off ‘bout five hundred of these,” Gene says, nodding towards the poster. “I ain’t waitin’ around for that.” He heads off in the direction of the lockers, stopping beside Babe’s first and waiting for him to get out the books he needs for the day. The _FAG_ is still scrawled across the locker door, and Babe sees Gene lick the split in his lip as he stares at it, eyes narrowed.

“It’s all right,” Babe finds himself saying as he closes the locker again. He glances at the graffiti and shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d rather have _fag_ spray-painted across my locker than be one of the narrow-minded, egotistical dickbags who actually call people that.” He thinks of Cobb, of how sullen and alone he’d looked yesterday outside Sink’s office and winces, but then he remembers Renee’s bleeding knuckles, glances at Gene’s black and blue face, and pushes the pity away.

Gene is looking at Babe like he’s grown a second head. “Dickbags?” he says, and his tone of voice is light. Babe rolls his eyes and heads towards Gene’s locker.

“Cockheads, douchecanoes, fuckwits, pisscoughs—you know.” Gene looks like he very much does _not_ know, and Babe suppresses a sigh. This is what he gets for growing up next door to Bill Guarnere. “Well, what do you say to someone when you want to insult them?”

Gene thinks for a moment. “ _Voila merde_ ,” he says softly, as if afraid someone will hear, “Or you call ‘em _Couillon_. Either, I s’pose. Or you just sock ‘em good.” As he says those words, Gene clenches and unclenches his right fist, the knuckles of which are still red raw.

“Do I even want to know what that means?” Babe doesn’t wait for an answer. “Who am I kidding, it’s more fun _not_ knowing. Would, say, my ma be insulted if I called her a—what was it? _Couillon_?” Gene chokes on a laugh, so Babe takes that as a yes. “I’ll save that one for the dickheads at school, then?”

“Definitely,” he smiles warmly, and Babe feels that warmth all over.

They get to French just as the bell rings, and Babe watches Gene get out his books and pens from the corner of his eye. They’re neat and tidy, pens all capped and edges of his exercise book smooth and not creased, unlike Babe’s own stationery, which is haphazard at best and sometimes even non-existent. It’s nothing to be ashamed of—at least Babe _has_ an exercise book in which he writes _actual_ notes, unlike Luz who never does any work in class and yet seems to ace every subject anyway—but compared to Gene, Babe feels messy and worn and undeserving. Especially when he looks at the bruises on Gene’s face and knuckles, bruises that are only there because of Babe.

He’s incredibly lucky, he thinks, to be able to count Gene as a friend.

Renee slides into the classroom just as the teacher is closing the door. Since this is French class, she’s basically the teacher’s pet, so all she gets for being late is a stern look. Babe notes the absence of posters in her hands, and swears under his breath. Clearly, she’s been busy. She’s probably tacked up one of Gene’s posters next to each of Babe’s, just to reinforce the hopelessly massive crush he has. Awesome.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” she whispers to the two of them as she drops into her seat, and Babe gives her a tight smile. The twinkling in her eyes lets him know that she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and his smile disappears altogether.

Between her and Luz and Bill, Babe’s not gonna survive the day. He spares Gene, already attentive and taking notes, another glance, before turning to his own workbook and praying for strength.

 

***

 

Somehow, Babe makes it through French class, and bids Gene and Renee farewell as he heads off to English. The lesson passes quickly, spent analysing _The Catcher in the Rye_ , and Luz and Bill don’t do anything overly frustrating which is a plus. History is next, which, thankfully, is one class he’ll be able to sit through in peace—out of his group of friends, only Julian shares it with him, and he always knows when Babe would rather not be bothered.

Winters is already writing on the board when Babe walks inside, and half the class are already sitting down, furiously taking notes. Babe hurries to join them. He’s always loved History, but he thinks that might have more to do with the teacher than the subject. Back in freshman and sophomore years, Babe had had Mr. Sobel for History, and he’d hated the class with every fibre of his being. But this year and last year, with Winters, the subject has quickly become one of his favourites.

It’s still hard work, though. Babe is flat-out taking notes for the entire period, furiously copying down everything Winters writes, reads out or simply says off the cuff. Unlike many of his other teachers, for whose opinion Babe cares very little, he’s always wanted to impress Winters ever since their first lesson together. And Winters isn’t easily impressed, though sometimes he pretends to be, because he’s nice like that.

When the bell finally rings for break, Babe’s head is swimming with facts about the intricacies of Soviet foreign policy under Stalin. He finishes writing down the stuff on the board while everyone else hurries to pack up, and so consequently is the last student to leave the room. Before he can get out the door, however, he’s stopped by Winters calling his name.

“Sir?” Babe asks, turning around to where Winters is leaning on the edge of his desk, arms crossed.

“You’re not in trouble, Babe, so you can wipe that look off your face,” Winters says with a smile, and Babe relaxes. “I just wanted a quick word. Maybe close the door?”

Babe does so, before wandering over to Winters and hovering awkwardly near his desk. “Sir?” he says again, fumbling with the straps of his backpack.

“I noticed you’re running for prom queen,” Winters begins, and Babe flushes. “It’s not anything you should be embarrassed about, Babe. In fact, I’m proud of you for it. Not many kids would be brave enough to do what you’ve done—coming out like that. But I understand that it’s probably harder for you than it is for Eugene, so—”

“Wait. What?” Babe says eloquently, brain short-circuiting. A small crease appears between Winters’ eyebrows.

“I saw the posters, Babe,” he says gently. “The _matching_ posters. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you two are together. I just want you to know that if you’re hard-pressed to find anyone else in your corner, I’m here.”

Babe blinks. “We’re not—um. We’re not together.” _Yet_ , his traitorous brain supplies.

“You’re—not?” This time, Winters looks _really_ confused, and the crease in his brow deepens. “My apologies, then. But—I have to say that it looks an awful lot like you are. The posters—”

“We didn’t even _make_ them!” Babe bursts out, embarrassed and out of his depth. Talking about his crush to a friend is one thing, but to a teacher it is absolutely _mortifying_. “It was Luz and Renee, they’re trying to embarrass me in front of him, you know. We’re not—he doesn’t like me like that.”

“But you do?” Winters, ever astute, manages to make Babe feel even shittier about himself than he already did. “It’s not a bad thing, Babe. Like I said before, I’m proud that you’ve been able to come to terms with yourself like this—it’s more than I ever could at your age.”

Babe opens his eyes from where he’d closed them in humiliation. “Sir?”

Winters splays the fingers out on his left hand, twisting the golden ring which sits so innocuously on his third finger. “We only got married last fall. Took the both of us forever to come to terms with the fact that what we felt for each other was more than just friendship.” Winters glances up and smiles at Babe, who is almost struck dumb.

“You’re—gay?”

“Bisexual, actually,” Winters says conversationally, “But yes. I like men. And I married one. I’m just always regretful that it took me so long to figure myself out.” He leans forward and claps a hand on Babe’s shoulder, squeezing. “Like I said before, if you need anything, I’m here for you. I know what you’re going through. And something tells me Eugene does too.”

“But—Gene came out ages ago. _Years_ ago.”

Winters tilts his head to the side, regarding Babe with intelligent eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, and doesn’t say anything more after that. Babe leaves the classroom with a headache starting to form in his right temple and an unsteadily beating heart in his chest, wondering what the hell Winters had been talking about.

 

***

 

Thanks to his chat with Winters, Babe misses lunch—which might actually be a blessing, he realises during last period, because it meant he had dodged a bullet when it came to anyone confronting him and Gene about their posters.

His last class of the day is Physics, but with Spina as his lab partner it isn’t so bad.  When the final bell rings, signalling the end of school, Babe almost weeps with relief—until he remembers that Friday afternoon means detention, and detention means spending an extra hour alone with Gene. (And Renee and Cobb, but it isn’t them that Babe goes weak at the knees for.)

Babe troops into the detention room, where Gene, Renee, Cobb, and three other students are already sitting in silence. He recognises two of them as Joseph Liebgott and David Webster, probably in here for being at each other’s throats (both sexually and physically) like they always are, but the last is a girl Babe doesn’t know the name of. He recognises her vaguely as being Australian, an idea that is confirmed when she opens her mouth and asks the teacher on duty what they’re supposed to be doing.

Lipton—and thank God it’s him, because if it had been Speirs who was taking this detention shift, Babe would’ve burst into tears then and there—just says that they’re to carry on with any homework they have in silence, and _that means silence, Joe_ , to Liebgott who is looking like he’s about to open his mouth and say something snarky and/or insulting to sharks, like he usually does.

Babe hurries over to the table Gene and Renee are sitting at, getting out the Physics equations Haldane had set them the previous period. Gene shoots him a devastating smile when he slides into his seat, and Babe sends a tremulous one back. Renee just smirks down at her English essay.

The hour passes relatively quickly and easily. Even though Lipton enforces the rule of silence, he does it in a way that’s stress-free. Speirs, on the other hand, does it in a way that’s terrifying.

Only twice does Lip have to tell someone off. Once, it’s Liebgott (surprise, surprise), who’s been lobbing tiny scrunched-up balls of paper at Webster for the past five minutes, until the latter snaps and throws a heavy-looking book back. Lipton seats them on opposite sides of the room, after that.

The second time, it’s the Australian girl, whom Babe learns is called _Stella_ , and who gets caught texting. She puts her phone away inside her bag after the reprimand, looking contrite, but Babe also notices Renee surreptitiously sliding her own phone back into the pocket of her jacket. He thinks that maybe he’s finally got something to blackmail Renee back with, and makes a mental note to ask her about it later. Preferably sometime when Gene is far, far away, so Renee can’t get her own back and blurt out Babe’s secret to its subject.

“All right, time for you guys to head home,” Lipton says once the hour’s up. He looks as desperate to leave school as the rest of them are. “I’ll see Babe, Gene, Renee and Cobb back here next week. I hope I don’t see the rest of you for a while.” His eyes are fixed on Liebgott when he finishes talking, but the latter just shrugs innocently, swinging his backpack over one shoulder and grinning.

Babe follows Gene and Renee out the door, falling into step between them as they head towards the parking lot. Ahead of them, Liebgott and Webster are arguing again. Stella walks a little ways behind.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Babe asks his companions, desperate to start up a conversation that doesn’t involve the word _prom_.

Renee shrugs. “ _Maman_ said she might take an extra shift, which means babysitting for me. Other than that, though, not really.”

“I gotta work a couple shifts of my own,” Gene says quietly, not making eye contact with either of them. Babe knows Gene is an only child and lives with his grandma, but he also knows that Gene would abhor any pity that’s directed his way, so he stays silent. “Our washing machine’s broken, so I gotta save up for a new one.”

“And _I_ said you can use ours any time,” Renee breaks in, but Gene just frowns.

“We’re fine,” he says roughly, and falls silent. They reach the main entrance and step out into the dying afternoon sun. Gene heads towards the bike rack, where his bicycle is the only one left chained up. “I’ll see you on Monday,” he calls to them while he’s unlocking the chain, before hopping quickly onto the bike and pedalling quickly away. Renee sighs as she watches him leave.

“I wish he would just let us help,” she says, and Babe silently agrees. She turns to him. “Need a lift home? I’ve got the car today.” She dangles her keys and grins.

“Sure,” Babe says, because the walk to his house is long, and he’d rather not have to call Bill to pick him up and be subsequently interrogated over the gear stick. He follows Renee to an old 4WD that’s parked pretty shittily under a sprawling oak tree. When he gets into the passenger seat, Renee turns the car on and revs the engine before reversing with a sharp twist of the wheel.

Babe is regretting agreeing to this already.

Renee’s a better driver than she is parker or reverser, though, so the journey home isn’t that bad. Babe gives her the directions early on and settles back into the seat, watching the foliage blur past outside the window. “So,” he says, after a while with just the radio keeping them company. “What’s going on with you and Stella?”

To his surprise, Renee blushes. It’s a full-body blush, too, one which spreads like a tide from beneath the collar of her shirt all the way to her hairline. “Nothing,” she says hurriedly, but after glancing at Babe’s unimpressed face, she sighs. “ _Yet_ ,” she amends. “Nothing yet. I don’t even—she’s not out, yet. I don’t even know if she’s into girls. And if she is, she’s never said anything about being into _me_ specifically, so—”

“Renee, Renee, slow down.” Babe gives a rueful laugh and runs his fingers through his hair. “How many times have I told Gene how I feel about him, huh? None. _None_. Just because she hasn’t said anything, doesn’t mean she has nothing to say.”

Renee pulls up beside his house in an atrocious park and gives him an incredulous look. “You two really are made for each other,” she says with wonder, and Babe blinks.

“Wha—” he starts to ask, but Renee is already laughing and turning the volume of the radio up. He takes that as his cue to leave, and does, sliding from the seat onto the pavement below. “Thanks for the lift,” he says through the open window, and Renee gives him the thumbs up before revving the engine once more and lurching off down the road. Babe watches her go, and thinks that for the second time today, he’s been completely and utterly thrown for a loop because of something cryptic someone’s said to him.

Must be a record, or something.

 

***

 

Babe’s weekend is consumed by study, babysitting and procrastination, like usual. His ma sits him down to have an absolutely mortifying talk about safe sex, and Babe spends the next hour trying to erase that experience from his mind. He never realised his ma knew so much about gay sex.

Other than that though, it’s fairly quiet, and largely free of mortification. Bill is busy wooing Fran, a girl from the private school across town, so he doesn’t have a chance to hang out with Babe and tease him further than he already has. Babe considers texting Gene, whose number he’s had in his phone for months, but has never quite worked up the courage to contact. He quickly quashes that idea, however, when he remembers how busy Gene sounded like he was going to be over the weekend, and how unlikely the possibility is that he would even want to speak to Babe outside of school hours, anyway.

He considers texting Renee, but honestly, he has no idea how that conversation would go, and he’s not sure if he wants to find out. He’s been puzzling over her words to him on the drive home for two whole days, and he’s not any closer to figuring out what the hell it was she meant. _You two really are made for each other_. Surely she didn’t mean Babe and Gene? And if she did, surely she was just kidding?

Gene and Renee are thick as thieves, after all, and if she knew about any feelings he might be harbouring, surely she would’ve told Babe by now. Surely. And yet… Clearly she hadn’t told Gene about _Babe’s_ feelings, so is it really so far-fetched to think she’s do the same if the roles were reversed?

Babe allows himself a moment, just a moment, to entertain the thought of Gene liking him back. It makes him feel all bubbly and warm on the inside, like he’s drunk some of that magical lemonade from that old Willy Wonka movie he used to love as a kid. But then reality comes crashing back in all too soon, and Babe resigns himself to a life as a lonely old cat lady.

At least cats are cute, he thinks glumly the following Monday morning, packing his schoolbag. Not as cute as Gene, maybe, but cute enough to soften the blow.

Bill’s waiting by the car as usual when he heads out the front door, and they spend the drive to school talking about Fran. She and Bill went on a date Saturday night, apparently, and it went well. _Really_ well.

“Spare me the details, Christ,” Babe says loudly, just before Bill launches into an explanation of how amazing Fran really is. “Just because I like dick doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your gay friend, for Christ’s sakes. And if you ever ask me to help you pick out an outfit, so help me God I will stab you with a fork.”

Bill just laughs at this, and proceeds to spend the next five minutes asking Babe fashion advice. Babe just looks out the window resolutely and doesn’t answer. He will not stoop to Bill’s level. He _won’t._

Turns out, he will.

As soon as he parks the car, Babe subjects Bill to a merciless tickle attack, the likes of which he hasn’t inflicted on anyone since his pre-teen years. “Okay, okay!” Bill gasps out after several minutes of muffled protests and tears of laughter. “You won’t be my gay friend, I get it. Lemme go, maybe?”

They hop out of the car and walk inside the school just as the bell rings. The tickle attack must’ve taken longer than Babe thought. He and Bill race to their lockers, which are only a few doors down from each other’s, before heading in opposite directions to class. Just before Bill rounds the corner, though, he calls out over his shoulder, “Hey, _Babe_ , do you think my ass looks big in these jeans?”

Babe just flips him the bird, and the echoing sound of Bill’s laughter follows him all the way to Math class, where the lesson passes in a dull haze of algebra and equations Babe doesn’t really pay attention to. He’s always been good at Math without really trying, something which he thanks God for every day, because Math class is fucking _boring_.

He doesn’t get around to seeing Gene until lunchtime, when he and Renee once again join Babe’s usual table. Gene sends him a small, tired smile, still managing to look devastatingly beautiful whilst exhausted. Babe thinks about the shadows under his own eyes, and suppresses a sigh. He really hates genetics sometimes.

“How was your weekend?” Babe asks Gene, a nice and safe conversation starter, whilst everyone else is making a racket around them. Babe shoves a forkful of fatty pasta into his mouth, eyes catching on the cute little homemade sandwich Gene’s brought in for lunch today. Its crusts are even cut off, and the sandwich itself is sliced into four tiny triangles, like for a little kid’s lunchbox. Babe’s heart melts, just a little. He wonders if Gene made it himself.

“Worked a couple of shifts,” Gene replies good-naturedly, lifting the fairy sandwich with his pale hands and not even realising the effect he’s having on Babe, who’s trying very hard not to have heart palpitations. “At the animal shelter, you know?”

Babe blinks. When Gene had said _a couple of shifts_ before, he’d imagined some kind of fast food store or mall shop, you know—the ordinary places teenagers work. But no, of _course_ he’s gone and got himself a job at the animal shelter, where Babe will probably end up purchasing several cats in the immediate future. As if he didn’t love Gene enough already.

And that—that word pulls him up short. _Love_. Babe’s known about his ridiculous crush on Gene for years, but lately, he’s also known that by now it’s probably more than a crush. He’s never put a label on it, though, and the one his traitorous mind has just supplied is heart-stopping. He swallows thickly, realising Gene’s still waiting for an answer, and thanks God that no-one in this room has the power to read minds, because they’d be laughing themselves sick at the situation Babe’s in right now.

“No, I didn’t,” Babe says to the love of his (admittedly short) life, trying to play it cool. “That’s cute. I mean—the animals. The _animals_ are cute. Not saying you _aren’t,_ I just—yeah.” _Fuck_ , he thinks. _Real smooth, Heffron, real smooth._ From across the table, Bill is wiggling his eyebrows in their general direction, and Babe groans. With the rate he’s going, he’ll be the one spilling his secret to Gene, and Luz and Renee and Bill won’t have anything to feel guilty about.

“Yeah, they are,” Gene agrees, thankfully not seeming to notice Babe’s colossal slip-up. He smiles then, tiny and warm and fucking adorable, and Babe melts even further into the puddle of goo he is rapidly becoming. “There’s this one kitten, she was only born a couple days ago—her mom’s in the shelter too—and if she ain’t just the cutest thing I ever saw.” He gives a small laugh and bites into his sandwich, which is in all likelihood just as cute as the cat he’s talking about.

“What’s her name? The kitten,” Babe clarifies, thinking that if he’s going to become a crazy cat lady, maybe he should start early.

Gene grins. “Pup,” he says, and Babe blinks.

“Um. Did you say—”

“Pup? Yeah, I did. And before you ask, yeah, I named her, and no, it ain’t stupid, it’s cute.” Babe blinks again. He’s never heard Gene be so… obstinate about something before.

“It is,” Babe says after a moment, lost in imagining Gene with a tiny kitten in his hands. “Cute, I mean.” And then a horrible, no good, terrible, very bad idea pops into his head. “When’s your next shift?” he asks innocently, the words slipping out before he can second-guess himself, debating between slamming his head repeatedly against the table or just grabbing the fork and getting it over with.

“I had t’ move it to Thursday afternoon,” Gene says slowly, looking at Babe confusedly. “Cos of detention. Why?”

Babe shrugs and tries to look innocent. “Just wondering,” he says, and it’s true. He’s wondering just how much money you need to buy a kitten, and whether he can get his hands on it by Thursday.

 

***

 

Kittens, according to Babe’s exhaustive research on his phone during detention that afternoon, cost between eighty and one hundred and twenty dollars, depending on where you go. _I can manage that_ , he thinks, but then he reads on. Prices for a first visit to the vet range from one hundred to two hundred dollars, and then there’s the food, bedding and toys he’ll have to invest in, too. Buying a kitten seems a lot more expensive than he anticipated, and Babe wonders whether he can wrangle his ma for a loan. She’d love having company around the house when she’s home all day by herself, and a kitten would be perfect for that.

At least, that’s the argument Babe prepares in his head.

“Babe.” Lip’s soft but authoritative voice cuts through the silence of the detention room. “Phone away, please. Don’t make me have to confiscate it.”

“Sorry, sir,” Babe mumbles, and stuffs the phone into his pocket. Gene shoots him a look over the French homework they’re both working on, and Babe just shrugs hopelessly in reply, as if to say, _oops._ What he’s really thinking about, though, is whether or not Gene will classify him as a stalker if he shows up at the animal shelter on Thursday. The animal shelter that’s on the opposite side of town to where Babe lives.

Nah, he wouldn’t. Probably.

Renee gives Babe a lift home again after they farewell Gene in the parking lot. The latter cycles like a fucking demon, Babe thinks, watching him pedal furiously away. Gene pedals like something is chasing him—Babe doesn’t know whether that thought is amusing, or worrying. He decides not to dwell on it.

Renee remembers the route to his house well enough, only having to ask him directions at an intersection once. To fill the silence, Babe asks her whether she’s done anything about Stella yet.

“It’s only been three days since you last asked, _mon Dieu_ ,” she sighs, but she’s smiling, which Babe takes as a good sign. He waits for her to continue. “She texted me over the weekend. We talked.”

“About?”

Renee blushes. “Nothing, really. It was just…nice.” She smiles, and Babe understands. He’s had many conversations with Gene over the years, and though some make him feel out of his depth, and some make his palms sweaty and his heart skip and his throat dry up, there are others which he can’t describe as anything other than _nice_. Like a warm, happy feeling has suffused his entire being, and Gene is behind it all.

Yeah, Babe understands exactly.

 

***

 

The rest of the week passes in much the same way. Bill and Renee tease Babe about Gene; Babe teases Bill about Fran and Renee about Stella. He tries to slow his heartbeat whenever Gene smiles at him (which is often, recently) and tries to stop his eyes from catching on Winters’ wedding ring and thinking, _maybe, one day_.

On Thursday morning before school, because if Babe is good at anything it’s procrastinating, he finally approaches his ma about the kitten. She takes it surprisingly well, he thinks.

“You gotta be kidding me,” she says as she stands at the sink, scrubbing the dishes. Babe got up early this morning, so is standing beside her with a tea towel ready for drying in his hand. “When have you _ever_ wanted a cat?”

“Kitten,” Babe corrects, “And I’ve always, you know. Liked the idea of having one, I guess.”

“You guess?” Ma plants her soapy hands on her hips and turns to face Babe, not continuing until he looks her in the eye. “I don’t have a problem with getting a pet, honey,” she says, “If that’s what you want. But you gotta be sure. I’m not having you cooing after this damn kitten for a month and then forgetting about it and letting it starve to death, you hear? Because it’ll be your responsibility. You just gotta be sure.”

Babe thinks of Gene’s soft smile when he had talked about the animal shelter, and he thinks about all the smiles Gene has been sending his way recently. “I’m sure,” he says, and has never said anything so truthful in his life.

His ma gives him the money he hasn’t been able to scrounge up from his savings, along with a stern look. “You take care of this kitten, you hear me?” He nods, and is on his way out the door to where Bill is beeping the car horn, when his ma says his name again and he turns. “And you take care of that boy of yours too,” she says knowingly, and Babe is still blushing by the time he and Bill get to school twenty minutes later. Even Gene comments on it.

“You look flushed,” he says worriedly in French class, which is a Big Thing for him because Gene _never_ talks in French class. “Are you sick? Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?”

“You ain’t a doctor yet,” Babe whispers back, “So quit worrying. M’fine.”

Gene doesn’t look convinced, but the money his ma gave him this morning is burning a hole in Babe’s pocket and he really wants his visit to the animal shelter to be a surprise, so he zips his mouth up and doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the lesson. Renee just looks between the two of them and rolls her eyes. Babe meets her gaze, exaggeratedly mouths the word _Stella_ , and laughs under his breath when it’s her turn to blush.

He really loves payback.

Come lunchtime, however, Babe can’t exactly give Gene the cold shoulder again. They sit squashed together like sardines at the lunch table, elbows knocking together awkwardly and thighs touching, and Babe may or may not have an existential crisis then and there. He hopes Gene doesn’t notice how sweaty his palms are, and the way his cutlery slips in his grip.

“So, Doc, I hear you work at the animal shelter,” Bill drawls, cutting off Babe’s train of thought, who groans internally. Excellent. Another chance to make a fool of himself.

“Yeah, I have for a while now,” Gene replies slowly around a mouthful of food. “Doc?”

“Oh, Babe here told me all about your middle school escapades,” Bill says with a wink, and Babe suppresses the urge to kick him under the table—conspicuously, at least. “And I heard you wanna be one when you grow up, ain’t that right?”

“Uh—yeah,” Gene says, shooting Babe a surprised look before turning back to Bill and becoming more animated. “I’d love to go into medicine. And healing people—it’s kind of a family tradition.”

“Yeah, Gene, what are those Cajun healers called?” Spina breaks in from down the table. “Isn’t your grandma one?”

“ _Traiteurs_ , and yeah, she is,” Gene says, looking embarrassed when he realises that he basically has the attention of the whole table (excluding Perco, who’s brushing his teeth). “She, uh, lays her hands on people an’ cures ‘em. Draws out sickness, pain—whatever she can.” Gene goes silent for a little bit, and Babe holds his breath. He’s never heard Gene say so much about his family before; that part of his life had remained secret, virtually unmentioned from the moment the Roes moved away from Louisiana to today. “She prays a lot,” he continues in a soft voice. “She don’t like going to church, but she prays a lot—talks to God about the pain she pulls out. Asks for him to carry it away.” He glances up from where he’d been looking at his hands and suddenly seems to register the weight of everyone’s gazes resting on him. He clears his throat awkwardly and tries for a smile. “She used to, anyway. Back in Louisiana. Ain’t much call for faith healers in these parts.”

“Is that why you wanna be a doctor?” Babe hears himself ask, unable to look away from Gene, who he’s suddenly seeing in a whole new light. “To be like her?”

Gene crooks him a smile. “Somethin’ like that,” he says softly, and there is a moment between them then that hangs suspended, like flies in amber, neither looking away from the other, and Babe’s heart is slow like molasses in his chest, which is strange because usually it’s the opposite. They hang together in that space for who knows how long, before the noise of the cafeteria suddenly comes crashing back down, deafening them, and conversation around the table resumes as normal. The spell is broken.

Gene looks down at his half-finished lunch and smiles to himself. Babe looks at Gene and tries to fill in the blanks of what he doesn’t know, tries to connect the Gene Roe he’s been friends with for years with the Gene Roe from Bayou Cheyne, Louisiana, whose gran is a faith healer and makes Babe want to believe in magic. Babe looks at Gene and thinks, _I don’t know you at all_ , and the thought pangs like a gong in his chest for most of the rest of the day.

 

***

 

Somehow, Babe manages to convince Bill to let him borrow the car. Bill drives them home, gets out of the driver’s seat and reluctantly hands the keys over to Babe, with more posturing and threats than the piece of shit is probably worth.

Babe just thanks him with a smile and a promise to drive carefully.

The animal shelter really is on the other side of town, so it takes Babe a while to first get oriented, and then actually find his way there in one piece. By the time he pulls into the parking lot, his heart beating faster than is probably healthy, it’s nearing 4:30 in the afternoon. Babe double checks and triple checks the money in his jacket pocket before hopping out of the car and heading towards the front doors of the shelter.

It’s pleasantly cool inside, and a little bell jangles over the door when Babe pushes it open and lets it fall closed. There’s that faint animal musk in the air that is inevitable at any shelter, veterinarian, kennel or farm, and to Babe, who’s been a city boy all his life, it’s a little disconcerting.  

Behind the counter is a pretty girl Babe doesn’t recognise, whose nametag reads _Vera_ , and who is decidedly not Eugene Roe. Babe tries not to look disappointed as she glances up and shoots him a grin.

“Looking for anything in particular?” she asks, “Or just browsing?”

Babe clears his throat and steps up to the counter. Up close, Vera really is quite pretty, probably a few years out of high school, and if Babe hadn’t fallen hard and fast for her co-worker too many years ago to count, he’d probably be tripping over his own feet just to talk to her. “Uh, yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I was after a kitten, actually.”

Vera’s whole face brightens. “Then I guess it’s your lucky day,” she grins. “One of our rescue cats has just had a litter. A few have found homes already but there’s still a couple you could adopt. And they’re all absolutely adorable.” With that she stands and hurries over to a side door which must lead to the animals. “If you wander on down there, you’ll find the kittens soon enough. One of our staff should be somewhere there, too. I’ll tell him to try and find you.”

Smiling himself now, because Vera has an infectiously happy personality, Babe heads into the heart of the animal shelter, passing sleeping puppies and yapping dogs in cages on either side. He finds the kittens easily, like Vera said, and almost melts when he sees them. There are three left, all tiny and white-furred and utterly adorable, and Babe wants to kick himself because, honest to goodness, he has no idea how the hell he’s meant to pick only _one_ to take home.

“Pup’s the one in the middle, if you were wonderin’,” someone says behind him, and Babe whirls around to be met with Gene’s soft smile. “Vera told me she’d seen a ginger kid with a red nose from the cold, and all I could think of was you. Turns out I was right.”

Babe smiles when Gene smiles. “Yeah, I, uh, wanted to surprise you on one of your shifts. And when you told me about Pup, I guess I couldn’t pass up the chance.”

Gene raises his eyebrows. “You really here to adopt her?” he asks, voice laced with incredulity. He must see something of a confirmation on Babe’s face, because his stance relaxes almost immediately. “An’ here I was, thinkin’ you were only here for me.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Babe laughs, when really all he wants to say is _you great idiot, of course I’m only here for you. It’s always been you._ “But I’ve cleared it with my ma, said she wouldn’t mind some company around the house, so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Gene echoes softly, moving up to stand by Babe’s side and letting their shoulders brush. He unlocks the cage the kittens are sleeping in and gently lifts out the one in the middle, who makes tiny mewling noises when she realises she’s being separated from her siblings. “S’okay, _mon cher_ ,” Gene whispers to the kitten, and Babe tries not to feel jealous at the loving tone. It’s a kitten, okay. He is _not_ jealous of a fucking _kitten_.

And then Gene cradles Pup in his hands, leading the way back to the front office, and Babe concedes that okay, maybe, he _might_ be jealous of the kitten, just a little.

Vera’s smile when they reach the desk is a thousand times brighter than the one she was sporting before, and Babe wonders how that is even logistically possible. She coos over Pup, fingers flying over the keyboard as she gets the adoption papers ready and printed for Babe to sign. “Are you changing her name?” she asks, glancing up at Babe expectantly.

“No,” he says without pause, and his knees fucking _tremble_ at the smile Gene sends his way. “I think Pup suits her just fine.”

While Vera organises the official documents, Gene hands Babe a pamphlet entitled _Kitten Care 101._ “You need to organise food and bedding as soon you can,” Gene says, absently stroking a finger between Pup’s ears as he speaks. She begins to purr contentedly. “An’ all kittens love their toys, so buying her somethin’ to play with while you’re at school would be smart, or you might find your furniture a little worse for wear.”

Babe nods, flicking through the pamphlet quickly and smiling at the cute pictures of kittens that adorn every page. He glances up to meet Gene’s gaze. “Do you have a cat?”

Something in Gene’s smile turns stiff and sad. “Nah,” he says easily, but with a hint of something else in his voice. “Maw-maw ain’t all that good at lookin’ after anything right now, and I ain’t able to look after a pet on my own, what with school an’ work an—” He pauses, as if terrified he has revealed too much to Babe. “Anyway,” he continues after an awkward silence, “I get enough of animals workin’ here.” When he smiles, it is tight and looks fake. Babe’s heart aches in return.

“All right, then,” Vera breaks in, shoving a handful of papers under Babe’s nose. “Just sign where I’ve put little crosses, we’ll sort out payment, and then he’s all yours!” She glances between Babe and Gene and coughs loudly. “I mean, _she’s_ all yours.”

Babe nods absently and flicks through the forms, signing a quick and messy _E. Heffron_ wherever Vera has indicated. He doesn’t bother reading the fine print—he knows his ma would wallop him over the head if she knew, but he trusts Gene enough to let it slide.

Turns out, Pup is only seventy-five bucks, and Babe has never been so happy to hand over money in his life. Vera gives him a smile as she finalises the paperwork, and then Gene gives him Pup. Their fingers brush as he does so, and it’s such a fucking cliché, but Babe could swear he feels something spark between them. Gene doesn’t meet his eyes, though, so Babe doesn’t get his hopes up, and instead concentrates on the tiny bundle of living fur he has suddenly become solely responsible for.

Admittedly, it’s a terrifying thought.

Pup squirms and mewls in Babe’s hands, but then settles down almost instantly and nuzzles into the meat of his palm. He looks down at her, feeling scared and anxious and ecstatic all at once, and startles when Gene lays a hand on his forearm, forcing Babe to meet his eyes.

“You can do this,” he says simply, somehow reading into the crushing weight of responsibility that Babe is currently feeling, and being his usual perfect self by helping ease the burden. “She’s gonna love you. She loves you already.” Gene looks as though he wants to say something else, but just then the bell jangles over the door and someone new walks in. Vera takes over and starts chatting to them, but Gene gives Babe a regretful glance and steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I should go,” he says, and Babe swallows.

“Yeah,” he says, voice croaky, and blushes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“ _À demain, mes amours_ ,” Gene replies softly, but Babe is so caught up in Pup and her utter cuteness that he doesn’t try to translate the words, and by the time he’s in the car with Pup in her little cardboard box on the shotgun seat, he’s forgotten what Gene said already.

 

***

 

Babe’s sister, Lucy, is home when he parks the car on the road, and after returning the keys to Bill—who says a gruff _hello_ to Pup but gently strokes her ears as he does so—he heads inside the house, cardboard box safely tucked inside his arms.

“Where you been, little bro?” Lucy calls from the kitchen as she hears the front door close, but Babe just heads into the kitchen himself instead of answering. Her eyes immediately zero in on the box clutched in his hands. “What’s that?”

Babe just walks over, shoves her feet off the table, and deposits the box where they’d been resting. Pup lets out a soft meow at the motion and Lucy’s eyes widen like saucers. “Oh my God,” she says. “Oh my _God_.” Pup, Babe thinks, must never have been taught the concept of stranger danger, because as soon as Lucy lifts her from the box and into her arms, the kitten is nuzzling up against her like they’re suddenly best friend. “Oh my God,” Lucy says again, petting Pup’s fur and glancing up. “ _Babe._ ”

“Ma said I could, so I did,” he says defensively, rooting around in the cupboard for a snack. He finds a packet of crisps and tears them open, pouring himself a glass of water as well. “Her name’s Pup. She’s from that animal shelter across town.”

“Pup?” Lucy laughs as the kitten starts to crawl around in her lap. “That’s a ridiculous name.”

“It’s an _adorable_ name,” Babe corrects, feeling the need to defend Gene’s honour. “And anyway, I didn’t pick it.”

“Who the hell did, then?”

“I have a friend who works at the shelter,” Babe says, trying for nonchalance. “He told me about her and I decided to adopt her. Simple as that.” He quickly drains his drink and places the glass at the sink, hoping to make a quick getaway into his room before Lucy could comment further.

Alas, however, he just isn’t quick enough.

“A _friend_ , huh?” Lucy says, stretching out her leg and blocking Babe’s path to the door. “This _friend_ wouldn’t happen to be the infamous Gene Roe, now, would he? The Gene Roe ma’s spent all afternoon telling me about?” Babe can’t help it; even as a denial forms on his lips, he feels the blush starting to spread across his face. Lucy’s face lights up in triumph. “I knew it!” she declares, laughing. “ _Babe and Gene, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—_ ”

“Fuck off,” Babe interrupts, shoving her leg away. “I didn’t realise you’d regressed back to your toddler stage when you moved away from home.” He stares at Pup, who is now trying and failing to climb her way up the front of Lucy’s raggedy old sweater. “And besides,” he says, trying not to sound bitter, “It’s not like that. We’re not— He doesn’t like me that way.” He swallows around the lump in his throat and waits for his sister to respond.

When she does reply, it’s in a soft voice, after standing and placing one hand on Babe’s shoulder, Pup held securely in the other. “I can’t think of a world where someone wouldn’t like you, little bro,” she says with a smile. “These things just take time. Don’t give up now.”

Babe gives her a tremulous smile back and relieves her of Pup, who starts to squirm in his grip and obviously wants to explore the rest of the house. “Not so fast, little lady,” he laughs, cradling her in both hands and carrying her up to his bedroom. “We gotta take this slow, don’t we? Only one room at a time for you.” He shuts his bedroom door when they’re inside, and finally lets Pup wander around on the floor. She immediately heads to the end of his bed and starts rubbing up against it, arching her back and meowing contentedly. Babe sits at his desk chair and watches her, resting his elbow on the table and his head in his palm.

Pup reminds him of Gene a little bit, all cute and confused and a little lost-looking, but with a spark in her big green eyes that indicates a ferocity she can use when necessary. Babe thinks back to what Gene said in the shelter, about not being able to own a pet at all, and feels suddenly and immensely sad for his friend, who is one of the kindest and best people Babe has ever had the fortune to meet, and yet who has had the misfortune of being dealt life’s shittiest hand of cards.

Babe thinks about the way Gene’s eyes lit up when he held Pup, and the gentle way he spoke to her, and thinks that maybe, when the kitten’s had enough time to get used to the house, she might just be the perfect excuse to finally invite Gene over to stay.

 

***

 

Babe wakes up the next morning to the smell of cat piss. He stifles a groan into his pillow, sends a quick thanks to God for letting the house have floorboards instead of carpet, and drags himself out of bed to fetch the cleaning supplies. _Better add kitty litter to the list_ , he thinks as he scrubs away the mess, giving Pup the stink eye where she is lying curled up on a pillow, probably feigning sleep. Because of the time it takes him to clean up, Babe has to rush through the rest of his morning routine, shouting a goodbye in the general direction of the room Lucy’s sleeping in and hurrying out the door to Bill’s car.

“It’s been eighty-four years,” Bill tells him solemnly when he slides into shotgun, and Babe gives him the finger. Yes, he watched _Titanic_ when he was fifteen, and yes, he cried like a baby at the end, but that movie is fucking sad, okay? No-one can blame him.

Except Bill, who was there and teases him about it to this day. We can’t all be winners.

Miraculously, they aren’t late to class. Babe skids into the French room just as the bell rings, earning only a firm look from the teacher without a verbal admonition. They start working on their research essays during the period, and Babe uses the time (and Internet access) to Google both Robespierre sources and kitten-care tips. He’s really quite productive.

The rest of the day passes in the familiar boredom of school. At lunch, Gene sits next to Babe again and peppers him with questions about Pup for the entire break. Babe doesn’t mind in the slightest. He ignores the looks Bill and Luz and Renee and basically everyone else on the whole table is shooting them, and just concentrates on telling Gene things which will coax that warm smile from him again. Detention is much the same as it always is, except this time it’s monitored by Speirs, which means no-one there dares to do anything out of line for the whole hour.

When he dismisses them, it’s with that infamous smile of his which, rumour has it, he is said to have flashed the time he made a kid cry in one of his lessons. Babe is heartily glad he has never had Speirs as a teacher and never will; he doesn’t know if he would have made it out alive.

In the parking lot after detention, as Babe and Renee head to her car like usual, they spot Gene bypassing the bike rack and simply walking along the footpath out of the school. Renee calls him over. “What happened to your bike?” she asks concernedly, and Gene just laughs.

“Just a flat tire. Didn’t have time to pump it up this mornin’, so I walked.” He gives them a smile and starts to continue on his way.

“Gene, you _idiot_ ,” Babe says, grabbing his arm and making him turn back around. “I freeload off of Renee all the time. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra passenger.” He glances over at Renee to confirm, and she just shrugs.

“You’re a better passenger than Edward,” she just says, and laughs at Babe’s indignant exclamation. They both turn to look at Gene expectantly, who still seems hesitant.

“I s’pose,” he says at last, meeting Babe’s eyes and smiling softly. “But if either of you listen to any sort of shitty music on the way, I’m jumping outta the car even if it ain’t stopped movin’.”

“Drama queen,” Renee says, rolling her eyes. “And since I know neither of you will sacrifice your chivalry to call shotgun, you can both sit in the back.” This time it’s Babe who rolls his eyes, but he and Gene do as Renee says anyway, because she wasn’t actually that far off the mark. The backseat it spacious, leaving plenty of room between them, but still Babe feels the proximity almost as a tangible entity, a barrier between him and Gene created to stop Babe from doing anything stupid.

Renee seems to know her way to Gene’s house without needing directions, and after a few comments on the radio station Renee has chosen, Gene is silent for the whole ride. Babe tries not to feel awkward about that, but it’s hard not to. Renee meets his gaze in the rear-view vision mirror and gives him the eyebrow. Babe just looks away.

He’s never actually been to Gene’s house before, Babe realises as they enter a neighbourhood he’s never had much to do with. It’s a little rougher than where Babe’s family lives—which is saying something because the Heffrons have always prided themselves on their rough neighbourhood—and the paint is peeling off a lot of the houses they drive past, exposing the brick or rotting wood behind. The house Renee parks in front of is a lot nicer than the others, and even has some semblance of a garden out the front, though the bushes are all overgrown and the flowerbeds have been overtaken by weeds. Gene seems embarrassed by it, ducking his head as he gets out of the car and not meeting Babe’s eyes.

“Thanks for the lift,” he says to Renee, hoisting his backpack higher over his shoulders and kicking at a loose pebble in the grass. “Have a nice weekend.” He gives Babe a quick glance that conveys the same message, before hurrying across the lawn and up the stained concrete steps to his front door. He heads inside without another glance behind him, and Renee waits for Babe to climb forward into the shotgun seat before driving off again.

“Is he okay?” Babe asks her when they’re about halfway to his house, and she gives an audible sigh. Babe feels bad for asking, but he’s genuinely worried about Gene, and if anyone knows anything about it, it’ll be Renee.

“By his own definition of the word,” Renee replies after a while, “He’s fine. By any other definition… I honestly don’t know. _Je ne sais pas_.” Babe nods and they drive on in silence for a while. “I think,” Renee begins again, and then stops. “I think maybe he’s struggling, but is too afraid to say so. I know his _grand-maman_ is sick, and I know they don’t have enough money to pay for her treatment _and_ to send Gene to med school next year. As far as I know, they haven’t decided which one to sacrifice for the other yet. So no. No, Babe, I don’t think Gene’s okay.”

She turns onto his street and cruises to a stop outside his house. Babe idles in the shotgun seat, desperately thinking of something to say. “I want to help,” he murmurs softly after a moment, closing his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun. “I want to help, but I don’t know how.” He opens his eyes again and looks at Renee, who is staring back at him and looks just as lost and desolate as Babe feels.

“ _Moi non plus_ ,” she says. _Me neither._ Babe swallows, nods, and gets out of the car. He finds himself hoping that Gene will seek help first, before it gets bad enough that he’ll get it without asking. 

 

***

 

Pup occupies Babe’s time far more than he had originally anticipated. She jumps up onto his desk when he’s trying to do schoolwork and lies on top of his Algebra textbook, looking up and him and meowing as if to say, _Math is boring. I’m not!_

Babe just looks at her imploring kitten eyes and sighs. He’s not getting any work done this weekend.

A text from an unknown number buzzes at his phone around noon on Saturday. He pauses from where he and Pup have been rolling around together on the floor, and scrolls through the message.

 _Hi, Babe,_ it reads, _this is Stella Karamanlis, from school. I hope this is your actual number. I got it off George Luz in Physics class and he kept making this weird face at me. I hope this isn’t a prank. If this is your number, would you mind meeting up with me sometime tomorrow? I’d like to talk about something and I don’t know who else to go to. Thanks! :)_

Babe stares at the message for a really long time. Pup meows angrily and scratches at the back of his hand, but he just bats her gently away. He thinks he probably knows what Stella wants to talk about—their spheres of interaction only criss-cross on one particular point—but he doesn’t know if this is the kind of talk which will make him feel guilty the next time he sees Renee.

He decides it couldn’t hurt to meet up with her. In fact, it might even help.

 _sure_ , he replies. _how does 11 at winter’s sound?_

Stella texts back almost immediately. _Sounds great. See you there. (And thanks again!)_

Babe locks his phone, tossing it onto the bed before turning back to Pup and looking at her thoughtfully. “Wha’d’ya think, Pup? Should I have said no?” Pup just mewls plaintively until Babe sighs and reaches out to pet her again. “Spoiled little brat,” he says affectionately, scratching between her ears. “Only been here three days and you’re already bossing me around.”

As if to reiterate the point, Pup edges closer and burrows into Babe’s shirt, nuzzling against his chest. He winces a little at the sharp prick of her tiny claws into the flesh of his stomach, but she looks so content to be there that he just can’t bring himself to push her off.

Babe lies on the floor for most of the rest of the afternoon, Pup lying on top of him, and tries not to imagine what it would be like if Gene were here as well.

 

***

 

The thing about Winter’s café is that it has a longer, far more embarrassing name than its numerous patrons would care to admit. Babe remembers when it first opened a few years ago, and how mothers used to shield their children’s eyes from the store’s signage as they walked past to get to the mall. Nowadays, it’s a bit of an inside joke for the café’s regular clientele, of which Babe happens to be one.

“Welcome to Winter’s Dick, how may I—hey, Babe,” Nix, the café’s illustrious owner, says with a grin. “ _Ooh, ah, I wanna know if you’ll be_ —”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Babe says, cutting the rendition short. Every time Nix serves him, without fail, he manages to make some sort of joke out of Babe’s name. Which is ironic, you know, considering the name of the establishment they’re standing in. “Just a strawberry milkshake, thanks.”

Babe grabs a number and heads over to a table for two near the door, so when Stella walks in she’ll be able to spot him immediately. She does just that a minute or so later, just as Nix is bringing the milkshake over. “You after anything?” Nix asks her, jotting down her coffee order when she tells him. “Be right back.” He sends Babe a wink over his shoulder as he leaves for the kitchen, which is disconcerting on too many levels to count.

“Hey,” Babe greets her awkwardly after a long moment of silence. She smiles back. Stella looks really quite pretty today; her hair is in two braids and she’s wearing a flowery pink dress. Babe wonders whether he can get a discreet photo to tease Renee about later. He decides not to risk it.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to this,” she replies, her Australian accent slightly jarring and out-of-place here no matter how many times Babe hears it. “I know we’re not exactly friends, but.”

“It’s fine.” Babe waves away her apologies. “I’m always happy to help. What did you wanna talk about?”

Nix comes over then with Stella’s mocha, giving her a rare and un-ironic smile when she thanks him. She waits for him to go before speaking. “It’s about Renee,” she confesses suddenly, blushing a little bit. “But you probably already knew that.” Babe nods, sipping at his milkshake. “I know she’s been out for ages, but I—I haven’t. I’m still not, really.” She gives Babe a worried look as if he’ll storm out of the café at the revelation.

“It’s hard,” he says instead, smiling encouragingly. “Coming out, that is. No-one’s putting any pressure on you to do more than you’re comfortable with.”

She gives him a grateful smile in return. “I know, it’s not that. I just—I really, _really_ like Renee. But I don’t know how to tell her without—I don’t know, ruining our friendship.” She huffs out a laugh. “God, that sounded so cliché. But you know what I mean, don’t you?”

It’s Babe turn to laugh hollowly. Seems like everyone at school knows about his crush on Gene these days; except, you know, Gene himself. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, thinking about Gene’s smile and his eyes and the way he’d fallen a little bit in love with him that very first day they met. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I just wanted to know—to find out from her friend, I guess—do you think I have a chance? At all?”

“With Renee?” Babe asks for clarification, raising his eyebrows. “It’s not exactly my place to tell you exactly what she’s told me, but. I’d say you have very good chance. An excellent one, actually.”

Stella seems to light up from the inside out, and she reaches across the table to clasp Babe’s hands in her own, in an affectionate gesture that takes Babe a little bit by surprise. That surprise is probably the reason why he’s still gawking at Stella and holding her hands when the bell over the café door rings merrily and someone else walks inside.

Not just someone, though.

He meets Babe’s eyes across the café, and looks almost happy to see him, but then Gene’s gaze drops down to their clasped hands, to their half-finished drinks on the tabletop. And yeah, from where he’s standing, it probably looks a hell of a lot like a date. And even though Gene doesn’t even like Babe that way, even though he’s probably only upset about ruining their prom campaign, Babe still feels as though his heart has plummeted right out of his body and into the ground below.

“Gene,” Babe starts to say, dropping Stella’s hand like its burning him and rising to his feet. He tries to hurry around the table, to get to Gene and apologise, to _explain_ , but his legs get tangled up in the legs of the chair, and by the time Stella helps to sort him out, Gene is gone, and faint jingling of the bell still echoing behind him. “Fuck,” Babe says, quietly, and then again, louder. “ _Fuck._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Stella is saying from somewhere in front of him. “I didn’t know he was there, I would never have—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Babe says through his teeth, even though every muscle inside of his body is screaming at him to blame her, to blame _someone._ “I have to go.”

He shoulders past the mother who is giving him a dirty look for swearing, pushes past Nix who actually looks concerned, and heads outside into the fresh, biting air. Gene is nowhere to be seen, and that just makes Babe swear again.

Fuck. _Fuck._ He’s fucked up, he’s fucked up so bad. And not only with Gene, but maybe Renee too—Renee who Gene will probably tell about this, Renee who trusted Babe with how she felt about Stella, Renee who won’t know what to think when she hears.

 _But at least,_ Babe thinks, as he sticks his hands in his pockets and heads for the bus shelter to wait for the number 7, _at least Gene is only upset about prom. Prom is fixable. This—this can be fixed._ If Gene actually _like_ liked Babe, which he doesn’t, then this situation would be a whole lot worse and would require a hell of a lot more explaining. _So at least Gene is only upset about prom,_ Babe thinks again, and wills himself to believe it.

 

***

 

When he gets home, Lucy manages to stop him in the kitchen before he can escape upstairs to his bedroom. “You okay?” she asks, her face a mask of concern. Babe has begrudged growing up the youngest of five siblings (hence his nickname) for his entire life, because usually he hates being teased or coddled. But right now—right now he’s glad he’s not alone.

“Not really,” he tells her, slumping into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and resting his head on his arms. “I think I fucked it up with Gene, and I don’t know how I’m gonna fix it.”

A hand strokes gently through his hair, reminding him of his childhood. Lucy has long, wavy blonde hair, and Babe had always been fascinated by it as a kid. She, in turn, had loved his mop of red hair, and used to run her fingers through it every night before bed, praying to God to turn her own hair the same colour. God, of course, hadn’t done so, and Lucy had given up the gesture when she’d turned ten. Babe is loath to admit it, but sometimes he lays awake at night and misses the feeling.

“What happened?” Lucy asks softly, still stroking his head, and Babe tells her. She’s silent for a few minutes after he’s finished, only humming softly under her breath the tune of an old lullaby. “So you think Gene is upset with you,” she finally says, her voice carefully neutral, “Because you’re meant to be running for prom together?”

“Not _together_ together,” Babe says, voice muffled. “And Renee’s probably told him about her feelings for Stella, which means he’s probably angry at me about that, too. But yeah, that’s the general idea.”

Lucy makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. “And you don’t think Gene could’ve have been at all…jealous, maybe?”

Babe sits up abruptly, shaking Lucy’s hand from his hair. He looks at her in confusion. “Why would he be jealous? I told you before, we’re not—he’s not—it’s not like that.”

“But you like him,” Lucy says, scrutinising Babe closely. “You love him, don’t you.” It’s not a question, because she already knows the answer. Babe just puts his head in his hands again. “And you’ve never thought about the possibility that he might like you back?”

Babe laughs, his shoulders shaking, and somehow a sob escapes from his lips as well. “I’ve _thought_ about it,” he says, voice shaking. “Of course I have. But you know it’s about a thousand to one chance that the person you like actually likes you back? It’s basically impossible.”

Lucy seems to consider this. “But not entirely,” she says after a moment. “Who’s to say you and Gene aren’t that one in a thousand?”

“Because we’re not,” Babe says, with a note of finality to his voice. “Gene is ten times the person I’ll ever be, and I don’t deserve him.”

“Love isn’t about _deserving_ , Edward.” The way she says his full name reminds him of Gene, and makes his heart ache. “It’s about happiness. And acceptance. It’s unquantifiable.”

“I’m not trying to quantify it.” Babe stands and heads towards the door. He just wants to lie on his bed with Pup on his stomach and forget the past three hours ever happened. Lucy watches him as he pauses in the doorway, and he can’t bear to read the pity on her face. “I’m just telling the truth.” With that, he leaves the kitchen, and Lucy doesn’t call out to him as he goes.

 

***

 

Bill must see the same thing in his face Monday morning that Lucy saw yesterday, because he makes no attempt to start a conversation with Babe the whole ride to school. It’s the kind of guy Bill is, and Babe loves him for that.

When they get to school, Babe heads straight for his locker. The _FAG_ has been painted over on the weekend, but the dark red of the spray paint is still faintly visible under the blue topcoat. It makes Babe feel sicker than he already does. He walks to Algebra on heavy feet, and thanks every deity he knows that neither Renee nor Gene share the class with him.

Come lunchtime, Babe’s palms are sweaty and his heart is racing as he heads towards the cafeteria. On the one hand, he desperately wants to see Gene and explain what happened; on the other hand, he would rather do almost anything else.

The problem is solved for him. Not only do Gene and Renee not sit at a table with him, they’re actually nowhere to be seen in the entire cafeteria. “What the fuck did you do?” Perco asks, bewildered, and then swears when Bill steps in his foot under the table. No-one else comments on the conspicuous absences after that, and though they try to engage Babe in conversation at first, after a little while they let him just sit in silence. He thinks about the way Gene would sit close enough to him that their shoulders would brush and their elbows would knock, and then he thinks about the look on Gene’s face in Winter’s yesterday.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever reconcile the two memories.

He has a free period next, which he spends in the library doing the work he ignored over the weekend while simultaneously freaking out over the fact that he has detention next, and will practically be in a room alone with Gene for a whole hour. At that thought, Babe’s hands start to get the shakes—something which hasn’t happened to him in a long time—and he has to sit on them for a solid fifteen minutes before he can hold his pen properly again. By that time, the period is almost over, and it is with trembling fingers that Babe packs up his pencil case and heads down to the detention classroom, arriving outside the door just as the school bell rings.

Speirs is running detention today, and Babe doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. Speirs scares the crap outta him, it’s true, but at least with him there Babe will be under no obligation to try and talk to Gene, seeing as though Speirs would bite both their heads off if he even tried.

Gene and Renee enter the classroom together, and after a moment’s hesitation—surprisingly, on Gene’s behalf—Renee steers them both to a table on the other side of the room as the one Babe is currently working at. He looks down at his papers and swallows. He expected this, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

The only people in detention today are Babe, Gene, Renee and Cobb. Speirs sits up front, head bowed over his marking, and the four of them complete whatever work they have in utter silence. Babe’s hands start shaking again, even worse than before this time, and his fingers begin to curl and lock up against one another. He takes several deep, quiet breaths, trying to straighten them back out, but all it does is make them seize up even more.

Babe begins to panic.

He takes some more deep breaths, but louder this time, because he can’t help the shudder on the inhale. He’s so focused on _not_ having an anxiety attack in the middle of detention that he doesn’t notice anyone standing up from their seat and moving to his side until a hand actually gently rests on his back, startling him into looking up.

Gene is looking back at him, his mouth set into a hard line, but his eyes soft and cautious. He takes his other hand and with it grabs Babe’s stiffened fingers, flattening them out and massaging some feeling back into them. Vaguely, as if from a distance, Babe hears Speirs ask _what the hell is going on_ , but the blood rushing through his head is still too loud to formulate a proper reply. Whatever Gene says seems to do the trick, however, because by the time the shaking in his hands subsides, and he finds that he can breathe again, Speirs has gone back to his marking, looking as unflappable as ever.

“Thank you,” Babe whispers, his voice throaty and hoarse. Gene looks like he wants to reply, but at that moment Speirs dismisses them, and so he hurries back over to his and Renee’s table to pack up his things. Babe lingers, unsure as to whether he should wait around for them, but the decision is made for him when Gene walks back over and gives him a tiny smile.

“You okay?” he asks, and _God_ , it’s only been a day but Babe has missed that voice.

“Yeah,” he says carefully, unsure of where he stands. “It happens all the time, no big deal.” Evidently, however, that was the wrong thing to say, because Gene’s eyes immediately zero in on Babe’s hands and he grabs one of them, pulling it up close to examine it.

“No big deal? Babe, stuff like this isn’t normal, you really need to get it checked out.” Gene rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ _No big deal._ Listen to yourself. _Honestly._ ” Renee comes up to them then, and Babe steels himself for whatever is to come. She gives him a long, hard look.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Babe blurts out, so loudly and suddenly Gene drops his hand in surprise. The two of them look at him. “It wasn’t a _date_ , if that’s what you’re thinking. Stella got my number off Luz, she wanted to talk to me about something, something which was one hundred percent _not a date_. I swear.”

Renee and Gene scrutinise him for another long moment, before turning to look at each other and carrying out some kind of voodoo mental communication. “If it wasn’t a date,” Renee says after a protracted silence, “Then why was she holding your hand?”

“Oh my _God,_ she was talking to me about _you,_ okay?” Babe can’t keep it a secret any longer. He’ll apologise to Stella later; for now all he wants to do is wipe away that hurt look on Gene’s face because it physically pains him to stare at it. “She wanted to know if she had a chance with you. I said she did, and she held my hand because she was _thanking_ me. That’s _all._ ”

Renee looks flummoxed. “She—did?” Babe nods, and she just blinks. He sighs and turns to Gene, who is looking at him as if he’s a Math equation he’s just figured out how to solve.

“What?” Babe says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. Gene just continues to stare at him, a small smile forming on his face, and refuses to say a word in reply. Renee gives the both of them a lift home again, and though she seems distracted and preoccupied (by Stella, Babe would presume), sitting in the backseat Gene looks happier than he’s done in a long while. The fact that Gene’s mood is partly because of Babe’s confession makes his heart dance in time with the music. It’s a good feeling.

 

***

 

The next day, everything is relatively back to normal. During History, Babe’s second class of the day, Winters comes up to him while they’re copying notes down from the textbook and gives a familiar smile.

“Just checking in,” he says in a low voice. “How you holding up?”

Babe shrugs, trying to ignore the curious stares both Luz and Bill are sending his way. He doesn’t think they can hear the conversation, but then again it’s better to be safe than sorry. “I’m fine,” he replies, and to his surprise he finds that it’s the truth. Yeah, the last couple of days had been a shit storm, but right now it feels as though the squalls have passed and clear skies are ahead. Sure, there’s still the problem of his debilitating unrequited crush on Gene, but Babe’s lived with that for years, and he’d rather kiss Luz on the mouth than let how he feels jeopardise his and Gene’s relationship again. The debacle at the café was bad enough, and then Gene had only really been upset over the supposed betrayal of Renee. “Really,” he says, because Winters is still hovering, looking unsure, and for one horrible moment Babe thinks he knows what happened over the weekend at the café. _No, he can’t know_ , the more rational part of his brain supplies. _How could he possibly know?_

All the same, as Winters wanders off to check on the work of Faye Tanner, who sits right behind Babe and always lends him pens when he forgets them, Babe could swear he sees the teacher give him another concerned look over his shoulder.

Babe just concentrates back on his work, and for a while all he needs to worry about is the correct spelling of the names of Bolshevik party members.

French class is next, which gives Babe slight jitters all over again, but Gene smiles warmly at him when he enters and that’s all that really matters. They spend the lesson conjugating verbs, Gene laughing softly at Babe whenever he messes one up, and offering the correct word in his perfect, lilting accent. Renee sits beside them, but she still seems preoccupied, and if he had to guess Babe would say that she has yet to confront Stella.

He wishes her all the luck in the world. Someone in their little group deserves happiness.

And at lunchtime, that happiness finally coalesces. Renee is sitting on one side of the table, talking to Julian on the other, when suddenly the poor kid is pushed to the side, ramming right up against Bill, as Stella makes herself comfortable in the now unoccupied seat.

The table goes quiet. If this were a movie, the cafeteria would be enveloped in silence as well, but since this is real life, the only audience are an assortment of boys all staring open-mouthed at Stella, Babe and Gene included, though the latter has the beginnings of a smile of his lips.

“Will you go to prom with me?” Stella asks abruptly, her gaze locked on Renee’s, and there is a sudden collective intake of breath. Babe glances over at Renee, who is practically _glowing_.

“Of course,” she says in reply, just as strongly, and the table erupts in cheers and muffled sentiments of _congratulations!_ Babe grins into his mystery meat, swallowing down a huge mouthful before glancing to the side again and finding his gaze locked on Gene’s, who is already looking right at him.

There is something in that gaze which isn’t like the times they’ve looked at one another before. Gene’s eyes are sparkling and determined, and they’re not letting Babe look away, and it feels as though the both of them are waiting for something, teetering on the edge of a precipice, the next word out of either of their lips determining which way they will fall. Babe feels as though he’s missing something huge; the way Gene is looking at him seems _important_ , somehow, and he feels as though he should be doing something, saying something, anything—but he can’t, because he doesn’t know what Gene wants, and he’s furious at himself for not knowing.

The moment is broken when Joe’s elbow jostles into Babe’s side, pulling his gaze away from Gene’s magnetism. When he swallows, his tongue feels heavy, like it’s weighed down by all the things he’s left unsaid.

He glances back over a minute later, but Gene is looking down at his food, and doesn’t seem up for conversation any time soon. Babe swallows again, smiles dimly at Stella when he meets her eye, and wishes he could go just _one day_ in his entire life without fucking something up.

 

***

 

It comes to Babe’s attention, about a week or so later, after Stella has begun sitting with them at the lunch table and the conversation has become almost relentlessly about graduation, that he finishes school forever in just under a month’s time. Which means prom is less than a month away, too.

Babe realises this, of all places, in the library, in his free period on a Wednesday before break. He’s just sitting at one of the back tables, headphones regrettably forgotten at home because Pup discovered that playing with them was wonderfully fun. He sees two juniors hunched over textbooks, and thinks back to this time last year when he’d been cramming for his SATs. _Thank God they’re over_ , Babe thinks absently. All he has to prepare for this year are a couple of relaxed exams and a monologue for French, which are in about two weeks’ time.

Babe sits up from where he’d been hunching in his chair. Two weeks’ time. His final exams (and he uses the term loosely) are only in two weeks’ time. Graduation is two weeks after that. And prom is the same day as graduation.

Which means it is less than a month away.

Okay, so Babe doesn’t _panic_ , as such. He just has a minor freak-out about the future. He has his college admissions sorted already, that’s not a problem—and if by chance the college he’s going to is in the same city as the med school he knows Gene has his eye on, well, he’ll just call it a coincidence—but it’s more so the _prom_ part of graduating that’s unnerving him. Especially considering, you know, he’s running for fucking _prom queen._

Babe is still considering the ramifications of that outrageously embarrassing idea when the bell goes for lunch, and he automatically begins to pack up his things and head for the cafeteria. He catches sight of Gene already sitting at the table with Bill and Joe, and has the next mind-blowing realisation that _prom_ equals _date_ which equals _asking someone to fucking prom._

Choosing someone to ask isn’t a problem. Babe’s had that shit sorted since middle school. It’s the actual _asking_ that’s tripping him up, though, because there is absolutely no scenario Babe can imagine in which Gene would actually say yes.

Well, no, that’s a lie. Gene probably _would_ say yes, not because he wants to go to prom with Babe, but because he’s too nice of a person to refuse. God, he probably wouldn’t want to hurt Babe’s feelings; that’s the kind of guy he is. And Babe doesn’t know what would be worse: Gene refusing him outright, or Gene suffering through the evening because he’s too nice of a guy to say no? Neither of them are particularly appealing options.

By the time he collects his food and reaches the table, almost everyone else is already there. Stella and Renee are sitting together, hands probably clasped under the table. Bill has his phone out and is probably texting Fran, Joe and Luz have their heads together and look as though they’re talking about something serious for once, while Perco, Julian and Spina seem to be—no, _definitely_ are—talking about prom. Again. Wonderful.

“Hey,” Gene greets when Babe slides into the seat next to him, and Babe gives him a tight smile in return. He wishes he could just bridge the gap between them, lean in and kiss Gene smack bang on the mouth, but that would probably be a bad idea.

“So have you started looking at dorms for med school?” Babe asks instead, sticking the straw into his juice box. He doesn’t actually like apple and blackcurrant juice, but that was all the cafeteria had left when he arrived. Without saying a word, Gene snatches Babe’s juice from his hand and replaces it with his own pulpy orange. Babe could have kissed him then and there.

“Not yet,” Gene says, sipping from the straw, and he sounds nonchalant. But Babe has been studying Gene Roe for years now, and notices instantly the tightness of his shoulders, the downward slope of his mouth.

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” Babe says softly, trying to keep their conversation private. “Spina sorted his a few days ago. Went on and on about the dorm hall he’s been placed in. _And_ he told me about the deadline. So either you’ve looked and you’re lying or—”

“I’ve looked, okay?” Gene says in a rush, perhaps a little louder than intended because Renee and Stella glance worriedly in his direction. Babe waves their concern away and focuses back on Gene. “I looked,” he says again, softer this time, but he isn’t smiling.

“ _And?_ Have you started the paperwork? Isn’t it due in by…” Babe trails off, and remembers a conversation he had with Renee that first time she drove Gene home form detention, what feels like years ago now. _I think maybe he’s struggling, but is too afraid to say so_ , she’d told him, the half-remembered words coming back to him in a startling rush of clarity. _They don’t have enough money to pay for her treatment_ and _to send Gene to med school next year_.

At this moment, Babe would really like the shoot himself in the foot.

Gene seems to realise what Babe’s thinking, because his mouth tightens up even further, and his shoulders give a slump. “I ain’t goin’,” is all he says, not meeting Babe’s eyes. “You have fun there without me, won’t you?”

“I’m not going to med school, Gene.”

“I know _that_ , idiot,” Gene says, and his voice, though sad, is laced with an affection that makes Babe’s insides warm. “I meant your college. It’s in the same city, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, it is, how did you—”

“You told me last year,” he says with a shrug, and Babe stares.

“You remembered?” Even _he_ doesn’t remember that conversation; last year seems like a lifetime ago.

“’Course I did. It’s you.” Gene is looking at him in that strangely intense way of his again, but Babe doesn’t know what to do with his words, so they just hang loosely in the air between them. _‘Course I did. It’s you._ What does that even mean?

French class is, of course, next, and Babe manages to catch Renee’s arm while Gene is still packing up his things. “Gene’s not going to med school,” he says to her in a whisper, and her eyes soften.

“I know.”

 “We can’t let that happen.”

Renee kisses Stella on the check as the latter heads off to her Home Ec class, and then meets Babe’s eyes, her gaze steely and determined. “I know,” she says again, as Gene joins them, and Babe gives her a firm and decisive nod before they head off to class together.

 

***

 

The Get Gene to Med School Plan, as Babe calls it, is a little harder to execute than either he or Renee first thought, because scraping together enough money for Gene’s college fees is one thing, but getting him to accept the money? That’s a whole other problem entirely.

“He hates charity,” Renee reminds Babe as she drives him home after detention on a Monday afternoon. “I’ve tried to help out before and he’s always shut me out. We’ve gotta think of a way around that.”

“I know, I know,” Babe grumbles, staring out the car window and wracking his brains. “If the money is from us directly, there’s no way he’ll take it. And besides, I dunno if my ma’d be able to pay for college for both me and Gene.”

“Have you talked to her about it yet?” Renee asks, glancing over at him while they idle at a red traffic light. “ _Maman_ is fine with it, she loves Gene like her own son. And God knows we have enough money.” Renee doesn’t talk about it much, but Babe knows from bits of conversation here and there that her family’s pretty loaded. It’s part of the reason they came over from France, he remembers vaguely, thinking back to when Renee transferred here. Something to do with her father’s job.

“I haven’t mentioned it yet, no.” Truth is, Babe’s a little nervous about doing so. It’s one thing to admit to your ma that you have a crush on a guy; it’s a little more difficult to ask her to help fund his tertiary education, particularly when she’s already seen four kids through college and has another one about to begin. “But you’re right. There’s no way Gene’ll take our money. We have to find another way.”

“A fundraiser?” Renee suggests, but the idea falls flat as soon as the words are out of her mouth. The only kids that can really get away with stuff like that are the ones who’ve been in hospital half their life, or orphaned abruptly in senior year through some sort of tragic accident, and Gene is neither of those things—he is an orphan, but Babe’s never asked how it happened, and Gene’s never volunteered to tell.

“Well, we could—” Babe begins, but cuts himself off as he tries to think the idea through. “I suppose,” he says more hesitantly, “We could ask his gran? I know she’s sick and that’s where all they’re money’s going, but—but it could be worth a try?”

Renee pulls up in front of his house and puts the handbrake on. She turns to face Babe. “Gene’s _grand-maman_ isn’t just sick, Babe. She has Alzheimer’s.”

“Oh, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay, he never tells anyone about it.” Renee puts a comforting hand on Babe’s knee and squeezes. “I’ve never asked how bad it is, but she’s had it for a little over a year, and you know how fast that kind of thing can progress.” Babe nods and swallows, his Adam’s apple heavy in his throat. “But,” Renee says after a moment, “It’s worth a try.”

Their gazes meet. “Yeah?”

She nods. “ _Oui_.” Babe climbs out of the car and shuts the door behind him gently. It’ll be difficult finding a time to talk to Gene’s gran when he isn’t around—but then Babe remembers the shelter.

“How’s Thursday afternoon sound?” he asks, and Renee’s eyes light up with understanding. She smiles, suddenly hopeful.

“Perfect.” Babe watches her drive away before he turns to head inside, and prays that Gene’s gran is as generous and kind—and able-minded—as her grandson has always been.

 

***

 

Now that they have a concrete plan of action, Babe finds himself counting down the days until Thursday rolls around, desperate to help Gene in any way he can. He refrains, just barely, from mentioning something about Gene’s grandma during French class, and that’s only because Renee sends him a quelling look when she realises what he’s about to say. Gene gives him a weird look when he abruptly switches topics but says nothing, and for that Gene is grateful.

He never knew lying to the person you loved could be so _difficult_.

“You okay?” Gene finally asks him in the cafeteria at lunchtime on Thursday, resting a hand gently on Babe’s thigh to stop it from dancing up and down like it’s been doing for the past ten minutes. “You seem…tense.”

“No, no, I’m fine, I’m just—I’m fine,” Babe says, spectacularly unconvincingly if the sceptical look on Gene’s face is anything to go by.

“Really.”

Babe sighs. “No, not really. I’m just—nervous, I guess. About, I dunno, graduation and prom and college and—everything, I s’pose.”

“The future,” Gene summarises, and his usually lilting voice is heavy. “S’ am I.”

He looks so desolate and so desperate that Babe’s brain-to-mouth filter fizzes out entirely, and he blurts, “D’ya wanna catch a movie or somethin’ this weekend?” Gene blinks and meets his gaze. “I mean, as a kind of, I dunno, _fuck the future_ kind of thing.”

“Exams are next week, Edward,” Gene says slowly, and Babe grins.

“Like I said. Fuck the future.” Gene holds his gaze for a long moment, before the words seem to tug a reluctant smile from the corners of his mouth like a piece of thread unspooling a woollen sweater.

“Fuck the future,” Gene echoes, and _Christ_ , how is him swearing one of the most attractive things Babe’s seen in his whole life? “You’re on,” he says, and then pauses. “As long as I get to pick the movie.”

“Whatever you want,” Babe says, and the words are about more than just the movie, but Gene doesn’t seem to realise, thank God.

“I’mma hold you to that.” And when Gene smiles this time, it lights Babe up from the inside out. He’d do anything to keep that smile on Gene’s face forever.

 

***

 

Renee picks Babe up from his house at around a quarter past four. The look on her face is steely, grim determination, and by the way he’s feeling right now, Babe imagines he looks much the same.

They spend the drive to Gene’s house bouncing ideas back and forth about what they’re going to say to Gene’s gran. Renee wants to get straight to the point and ask her about the money directly, but Babe thinks that’d probably be a bad idea, confronting a geriatric so forcefully. He says so, and Renee wrinkles her nose.

“ _Geriatric_ ,” she repeats. “Now where’d you learn a fancy word like that, Heffron?”

“Shut up,” Babe laughs, punching her softly in the shoulder, but that laughter dies abruptly in his throat as he realises that Renee’s parked the car and they’re staring right at Gene’s front door. It’s painted green, with a tarnished metal 37 affixed to the middle of it, slightly askew. The garden is just as overgrown as the last time Babe saw it, but the wild quality of the weeds and the bushes gives it a kind of mythical allure that reminds Babe of his childhood. He knows Gene is ashamed of where he lives and what it looks like, but being here now, Babe can’t imagine why. Sure, it’s a little bit dilapidated in parts, but it’s charming too, and he wonders what it looks like on the inside.

When Renee reaches over to unclip his seatbelt, he realises that he’s about to find out.

Renee’s the one who rings the doorbell, even though Babe ends up standing closest too it. They wait for a long, tense minute, and Babe starts to worry that Gene’s gran is too sick to even answer the door—but then they hear the click of a lock, and the door opens in increments. When it’s fully opened, they’re greeted by a smiling old woman who looks small and slightly frail, but still spritely, and with a bright smile that reminds Babe, achingly, of Gene.

“Come in, come in,” she says without asking who they are or why they’re here, and Babe wonders if she recognises Renee—but when he glances over, Renee seems as confused as he is. She meets his eye, shrugs, and follows Gene’s gran inside.

The house is neat and tidy and so utterly _Gene_ that it makes Babe grin. The walls, painted a soft cream colour, are adorned with little wooden photo frames, and when Babe walks down the entrance hall towards the kitchen, his eyes track the photographs as they tell a story.

There’s what must be baby Gene, even then his little tuft of hair a silky, midnight black. He’s in the arms of a smiling blonde woman, who reminds Babe of those old film stars from black and white movies with their perfectly curled hair and sparkling eyes. Behind her stands a serious-looking man in glasses, who has Gene’s hair and jawline, and is looking at his wife and son with a tender expression. It makes Babe’s heart hurt.

As he moves on down the corridor, Babe passes pictures of baby Gene in the bath, toddler Gene in overalls building a sandcastle, kindergarten-age Gene grinning and holding hands with his parents on what must be his first day of school. The swamps and wild nature are captured in the background of many of the photos, and Babe quickly falls in love with the dusky night-time sky in one picture, and the pale blue porch railing looking out onto the bayou as the sun hovers on the horizon. Gene grows older in the photographs, and starts to look more and more like the Gene Babe knows. It’s his father who disappears from the pictures first, superseded by Gene’s sombre smiles and his mother’s haunted eyes. By the time Babe reaches and enters the kitchen where Renee and Gene’s gran are sitting at the centre table, Gene’s mother has disappeared from the photographs as well.

Babe swallows heavily when he realises what that must mean, and his heart sinks into his stomach as he thinks of Gene having to walk past the story of his parents’ deaths every time he enters and leaves the house. No wonder he doesn’t like talking about them.

Babe takes a seat at the table and accepts the floral teacup Gene’s gran hands him. “You have a lovely house, Mrs Roe,” he says truthfully, and she gives him a sparkling smile in return. “And your garden is beautiful.”

“Eugene takes care of that, the sweet boy he is,” she says in a voice even more heavily-accented than Gene’s. “And please, call me Adelaide. I ain’t been Mrs Roe in a long time.”

“Adelaide,” Renee cuts in, setting her teacup down on the tabletop a little forcefully. “I’m Renee, and this is Edward. We’re friends of Eugene’s.”

“Edward?” Adelaide squints at Babe, who squirms uncomfortably under her attention. “You don’t look like an Edward.”

“Well, most people call me—”

“My son was an Edward,” Adelaide interrupts, staring at something over Babe’s shoulder. “The name was Philippe’s idea, of course. Life weren’t kind to folks like us, back then. We wanted him to have a normal life.” She trails off, and Babe begins to wonder whether this was such a good idea after all.

“Mrs Roe. Adelaide,” Renee says again, louder this time, jolting attention back to her. “We’re here about your grandson.”

“Eugene?” At Renee’s nod of confirmation, Adelaide lets out a little sigh. “He’s such a sweet boy, you know. Couldn’t stand Louisiana after my darling Ed and his Maud died. I showed him a map, told him to point us where he wanted to go, an’ he closed his eyes and picked this place.” She sighs again. “Such a sweet boy. _Mon fils chéri_.”

“ _Petit fils,_ ” Renee says. “Your grandson, Mrs Roe. Not your son.”

“ _Petit fils,_ ” Adelaide repeats dreamily, and Renee seems to have had enough.

“Mrs Roe,” she begins firmly. “Adelaide. Your grandson isn’t going to med school. Did you know that? Did he tell you that? _Eugene n'ira pas à la fac_.”

Adelaide smiles. “Such a smart boy, too. He wants to become _un médecin_ , you know. _Mon cher petit fils_.”

“We know. That’s why he applied to med school.” Renee clasps her hands together under her chin. “ _Madame_ , Eugene got into college, but he isn’t going. Did you hear what I said? _Ii ne partira pas_.”

“ _Il refuse?"_   This, at last, seems to get through to Mrs Roe, because her eyes widen and she sits up as straight as her bones allow her to. “ _Pourquoi?_ ”

Renee casts Babe an apologetic glance, but he just shrugs. They’re speaking a little faster than what he’s used to, but he hasn’t taken French for four years in high school for nothing. He can follow the conversation, with a little bit of effort. “ _Il ne pense pas que tu as assez d'argent_ ,” Renee begins. He doesn’t think you have enough money. _“Il veut rester et s'occuper de toi._ ” He wants to stay and look after you.“ _Il ne croit pas qu'il le mérite. Choisis_.” He doesn’t think he deserves it. Pick one.

At this point, Babe would probably choose them all.

Adelaide’s eyes are even wider and she looks distressed. “I don’t need looking after,” she says anxiously. “ _Je peux prendre soin de moi_. But _mon cher_ must go to college. _Il doit le faire_.”

“We know,” Babe cuts in. “That’s why we’re here. Gene says he doesn’t have the money for both med school _and_ keeping up with your treatments, but we were wondering—”

“If I had somethin’ squirrelled away?” Adelaide says with a smile, surprisingly shrewd. “I been plannin’ this for years, ever since Ed an’ Maud passed.” At Babe’s quizzical look, she continues. “They started a college fund for that boy the moment he popped outta his _maman’s_ womb. They didn’t ever get around to tellin’ Eugene about it, and neither have I.”

“You mean—” Renee begins, her eyes wide, but Adelaide cuts her off.

“There’s enough to send him to college twice over, and keep me kickin’ on,” she says proudly. “He just don’t know it.”

Babe and Renee share incredulous glances, grins beginning to form on their faces. They turn back to Adelaide to thank her for it, but that glazed look is back on her face again, and Babe doesn’t know if she even realises they’re here. They decide to take their leave, stacking their unused teacups back in the cupboard, and heading down the hallway where Babe averts his eyes from the pictures. He doesn’t want this happy feeling inside his chest to disappear.

Once they’re outside and back in Renee’s car again, Babe lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It feels as though some great weight has been lifted from his chest. They have the money, and it’s from someone Gene won’t be able to refuse—what could possibly go wrong now?

“So, when do we tell him?” Babe asks Renee as she drives him back home. Her hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to tell him right away,” she says bluntly, and Babe’s heart sinks once again. He hates lying to Gene. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell him, it’s just—I think we should get through exams, and then tell him as a surprise. Maybe get his gran to do it instead of us.” _Because he’ll probably be mad as hell_ , is what she leaves unsaid.

“Okay,” Babe concedes. “After exams. Then we’ll tell him.”

He tries not to think of all the ways this plan could go horribly, disastrously wrong.

 

***

 

Friday passes quickly, despite the churning in Babe’s stomach, and he and Gene arrange to go to the movies on Saturday night. Babe’s too terrified to ask whether or not this constitutes a date, so he just smiles and wills his racing heart to slow down in his chest. When he gets home that afternoon following detention—following another hour spent making heart eyes at the back of Gene’s head, probably, at this point he’s not ashamed to admit it—he realises that the movies, whether or not it’s a real date, means dressing nice. And movies with Gene means dressing really nice. And Babe doesn’t know whether any of his clothes really fit the criteria at all.

So sue him, he panics. If Bill were here he’d probably spout some heteronormative bullshit about Babe acting like a goddamn girl, to which Babe would probably reply that Fran has Bill so whipped he’d love to get tips off her. But Bill isn’t here, and no way in hell is he the one Babe’s gonna go to for advice, so instead he pulls out his phone and calls Renee.

“Miss me already?” she says when she answers. Babe looks down at his watch and realises that, yeah, it’s only been half an hour since she dropped him off at his house. That’s probably not an acceptable timeframe to call somebody in. But then again—it’s Renee.

“Gene and I are going to the movies tomorrow and I have nothing to wear,” Babe blurts into the receiver, staring at Pup as she yawns and stretches in her cute little kitten sleep. “God, that sounded so—”

“If you say girly, I will slice off one of your testicles,” Renee says, a surprisingly eloquent insult for someone whose second language is English. Babe blinks.

“Just one, or—”

“ _Edward_.”

“All right, all right.” Pup cracks open an eyelid and seemingly notices Babe for the first time, because her tail gives a little twitch and she yawns again. “I need your help in deciding what to wear tomorrow. Possibly buying something. Maybe. I don’t know. I just—I dunno.”

Renee makes a soft _tsking_ sound through the phone, but she sounds fond. “If you’re asking me to take you shopping tomorrow, you’d better know what you’re getting yourself into,” she says, mock-threateningly. “I’ll pick you up at ten and have you home by two. Gene’s getting you at five, right?”

“Yeah, we’re having dinner before the movie—wait, how did you know?”

Babe can almost _hear_ Renee’s shrug. “You boys aren’t as secretive at the lunch table as you might think. We have a deal?”

“I—”

“Great, see you tomorrow. _Au revoir_.” Renee hangs up and Babe is left staring at his phone dumbly, the red _CALL ENDED_ sign flashing menacingly up at him. Pup wanders over and begins rubbing herself against his ankles. He looks down at her.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to try to be cute,” he says unthinkingly, and then abruptly thanks God for the fact that no-one heard those words leave his lips. He’s embarrassed himself enough today without adding that to the list of things to be humiliated by.

(And yes, there is a list, and it’s hanging on the back of Bill’s bedroom door. And no, Babe would rather not discuss it. Ever.)

 

***

 

When the doorbell rings the next morning, Babe’s ma is unfortunately the one who answers it. By the time Babe’s tumbled down the stairs into the kitchen, Renee is already seated at the table with a glass of juice and a wicked smile on her face. His ma looks much the same.

“Nope,” Babe says firmly, walking over to Renee and lifting her to her feet by the shoulders. “No way am I letting this conversation happen. No thank you.”

“You’re a little late for that, sweetheart,” Ma calls after them as they walk out the front door, and Babe can practically _feel_ the blush spreading like a tide over his face. Renee laughs.

“Why did I ask you for help again?” Babe wonders aloud as he climbs into the shotgun seat.

“If you don’t want me here, just say so.”

“No, no,” Babe says hastily—probably too hastily, judging by the shit-eating grin on Renee’s face. _Great_. He can already tell this is going to be a very long day. “So where’s Stella?” he asks after they’ve been driving for a while, Taylor Swift playing in the background that Babe’s been pretending not to know the lyrics to.

“She’s got family visiting,” Renee says, turning onto the main road. “From Australia, you know? Hasn’t seen them in a while, so I thought I’d leave her to it.”

“And she didn’t ask you to come with?”

Renee shoots him a look. “You may be hopelessly co-dependent on Gene, but I actually know how to live my life, thank you very much. _Jésus_.” Babe shuts up after that, because she does have a point. The degree to which he’s come to rely on Gene’s comforting presence is a little bit terrifying, especially considering the possibility that Gene might not take the money for med school, and next year Babe might end up moving hundreds of miles away from the one person he doesn’t know he can stand to be without.

Then again, it’s probably wrong to call that co-dependency, because it implies that Gene feels the exact same way about Babe—which is ridiculous to even consider, of course.

Renee parks the car on the main drag and only narrowly avoids hitting a little old lady crossing the street, who gives the two of them dirty looks even though Babe hasn’t actually done anything. “She should watch where she’s going,” Renee says, and she sounds unconcerned, but Babe knows that if she’d actually _hit_ the little old lady, Renee would’ve been out of the car in a flash, checking for a pulse with one hand and dialling for an ambulance with the other. It’s the kind of person she is—the kind of person she and Gene both are, actually—and it’s one of the reasons Babe called her, and not Bill, or Luz, or even his sister Lucy, to help him out today.

“Where to first?” she asks him, but it’s kind of a rhetorical question, because she ends up dragging him everywhere herself. Sure, Babe’s been into these shops before, but he’s never really been _shopping_ before, at least not shopping the way Renee Lemaire defines it. He feels like they should be making a montage, the number of clothes he tries on and discards.

Even people like Renee need lunch breaks, it seems, and a little before one o’clock she drags him—once again—to Winter’s Dick. Babe blanches slightly when he realises where they’re headed, because the last time he was there things got a little out of hand, but he just hopes that Nix has forgotten about the fiasco and doesn’t mention it to Renee. Considering, you know, he’d thought Renee’s girlfriend was Babe’s girlfriend.

“It’s on me,” Renee says with a grin, which is fair considering Babe’s hands are full of shopping bags that he doesn’t even want to tally up the prices for. “Strawberry milkshake and a tandoori chicken wrap, right?”

Babe blinks. “How did you—”

“Gene told me.” She heads over to the counter and leaves Babe to puzzle over her words—which seems to be a recurrent theme with her, lately. _Gene told me._ Babe is pretty sure that the only time he’s been in here with Gene was two years ago, when they’d both—embarrassingly—been in chess club, and the teacher had shouted them lunch after winning the local tournament. He and Gene hadn’t really been close back then—not enough to warrant Gene remembering Babe’s café order, surely.

Right?

Renee returns, causing Babe to leave the topic for later mental debate. “I love this place,” she says with a laugh, tracing the edge of the table with her finger. “You know, I didn’t even realise Nix was Mr Winters’ husband until a few months ago?”

Okay, scratch Babe’s previously statement: _this_ is the most puzzling thing Renee’s ever said. He blinks at her, wide-eyed. “Sorry. What?”

“You know.” Renee jerks her head over to the counter, to where Lena is taking the orders and giving them to Nix in the kitchen. “Nix and Mr Winters got married less than a year ago. The café is named _Winter’s Dick._ You didn’t think that was a coincidence, did you?”

Babe blinks again. He thinks he might be having a minor heart attack. “You mean—Nix, _café owner Nix_ , is married to _our_ Mr Winters? As in History teacher Richard—” And then it clicks. Richard. Dick. Suddenly the name of the café is a whole less lewd and a whole lot more logical. Renee laughs at what must be a look of dawning, horrified comprehension on Babe’s face. He remembers the conversation he had with Winters only a few weeks ago: _We only got married last fall. Took the both of us forever to come to terms with the fact that what we felt for each other was more than just friendship_. We. We, as in Mr Winters, the teacher who Babe’s always looked up to and admired—and Nix, the guy who talks shit with Babe and serenades him with stupid song lyrics every time he comes into the café. Winters and Nix are married. _Married._

It’s at that moment that Nix comes over with their drinks. “ _Say you’ll remember me_ ,” Nix sings, badly, “ _Standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, Babe._ ”

“Red lips and rosy cheeks, yeah, I got it,” Babe replies back, almost on autopilot. He can’t meet Nix’s eyes, not when he now knows that the guy probably goes home to Winters and tells him all the stupid stuff his customers did in the café today—which is probably how Winters knew about the whole Stella fiasco, Babe realises. _Duh_.

“Be right back with your food, Swifty,” Nix says with a laugh, and wanders away. Renee eyeballs Babe until he meets her gaze.

“What?”

“Didn’t I hear you complaining about the Taylor Swift playing in my car when we drove over here, _Edward_?”

“Shut up,” Babe says, wishing there was a way to sip his strawberry milkshake through a red and white striped straw while still looking menacing. Renee just grins into her cappuccino.

Nix does come right back with their food, and this time Babe meets his eyes. “Thanks,” he forces himself to say, instead of something along the lines of _you’re married to my favourite teacher and probably do unspeakable things to him most nights of the week, but hey, what’s new?_ Nix looks a little weirded out by the intense eye contact but just smiles in return before bustling away to deal with the influx of customers who just walked inside. Babe and Renee tuck into their food, and yeah—the awkwardness and the horrid revelations about his teacher’s sexual activity is kind of worth it, because the food here is so goddamn amazing.

“So,” Renee asks, just as Babe’s taken a big bite of his wrap. “You sitting in the back row for the movie tonight?”

Babe chokes. “ _No_ ,” he splutters out as vehemently as he can after gulping down some milkshake, “It’s not like that. It’s not—it’s not even a date.”

Renee stares at him shrewdly. “You sure about that?”

“Why? Did Gene—did he say something?” Babe’s mouth is suddenly dry. His heartbeat picks up speed. Renee shrugs, and he glares at her, but she just smiles back. “ _Renee_.”

“You’re big boys,” she says, wiping her hands on her napkin. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Babe thinks about the incessant pounding of his heart every time he so much as looks at Gene, about the way Gene’s gaze goes all weird and intense when he’s staring at Babe sometimes, about the gentle swipe of a tissue over Gene’s bloody lip forever and ever ago—Babe thinks about these things and more, and whether they might possibly mean than Gene, for whatever absurd, strange, laughable reason, has somehow found it in his heart to love Babe back.

Maybe tonight is the night he finds out for sure.

 

***

 

When Babe opens the door at two minutes to five to find Gene standing on the doorstep, he suddenly forgets how to breathe because Gene looks _stunning._ His hair looks wet, like it’s just been washed, and is neatly parted down the side. Underneath the plaid shirt, his shoulders are so broad Babe just wants to lean his head on one of them and stay there forever.

Gene clears his throat awkwardly, and Babe realises he’s been standing there gaping like a goddamned fish. He shuts his mouth and smiles. “Hey,” he says quickly, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind him. “Thanks for giving me a lift. I didn’t realise you had a car.”

Gene gives a tiny grimace that makes his nose scrunch up cutely at the end. “S’ Maw-Maw’s, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she crapped out on us halfway there.” And yeah, Babe has to admit that the car does look as though it’s seen better days. He doesn’t say that to Gene’s face, though.

“It seems fine,” he lies, but Gene just give him a look, and Babe pauses, caught out in the lie. “Well… I’m sure we’ll make it to the movies?”

“S’what I’m prayin’ for, Heffron.” Babe just rolls his eyes and gets into the shotgun seat. The car’s so old it doesn’t even have a CD player, and he spends a few seconds fiddling with the radio dial until Gene says, with a laugh, that it hasn’t worked in over a decade.

“Oh.” Babe rocks back in his seat. Gene shoots him a look.

“What, is my conversation that bad?”

“No, no,” Babe says hastily, “It’s just—” He breaks off when Gene begins to laugh. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes you just make it too easy,” Gene replies, smoothly shifting gears as he eases them onto the highway. He gives Babe a sideways glance. “Sorry, that was mean.”

“No, it’s fine.” Against his will, Babe finds himself grinning. He thought he’d be a stuttering mess being alone with Gene, but so far, so good. He just hopes he doesn’t screw it up. “You’re a much better driver than Renee.” The both of them shudder, almost in sync.

“It ain’t that hard to be a better driver than Renee,” Gene laughs, and they spend the rest of the drive to the cinema complaining about her parking and reversing skills.

It’s nearing five thirty by the time Gene manages to find a decent park, which should probably be expected of a Saturday night. “Where d’ya wanna eat?” Gene asks, locking the car manually by turning the key in the driver’s door. Babe didn’t think cars like that even _existed_ anymore.

“Anywhere but Winter’s,” is his automatic reply, still scarred from what happened there yesterday. Gene gives him a quizzical look but doesn’t ask for an explanation. “Maybe the one near the movies—I always forget what it’s called.”

“What, Backstage?”

“That’s the one.”

It’s a relatively short walk to the restaurant, considering how long it took them to find a park. Babe sticks his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Gene’s hand, which is swinging so enticingly by the latter’s side. _Get a grip_ , he tells himself, shaking his head slightly. _This probably isn’t a date, so get over yourself._ When they reach Backstage, however, Babe realises his mistake in choosing it. He wouldn’t call it fancy as such, but there’s soft music playing from inside, and the tables spilling out onto the pavement are occupied by couples more so than platonic dining partners. He shoots a worried glance at Gene, who hasn’t even seemed to notice the decidedly romantic atmosphere; his head is tilted upwards and he’s looking at the restaurant sign, which is emblazoned in lights and surrounded by wildly growing ivy. Babe spends that moment admiring the delicate swan curve of Gene’s neck, pale and lightly dusted with freckles in the receding daylight. He swallows.

A waiter with a nametag that reads _Sidney_ leads them to their table inside the warmth of the restaurant, and hands the both of them menus with a friendly _I’ll be back in five_. Babe opens his and scans the pages, wondering absently if a strawberry milkshake is an inappropriate beverage for this time of day. When he glances up from reading, he meets Gene’s gaze, who is staring right at him and smiling softly. “What?” Babe asks, as eloquent as ever.

“Nothing.” Gene ducks his head in a manner Babe would call _shy_ or even _bashful_ if he didn’t know better; Eugene Roe doesn’t really do shy or bashful, especially not with his friends. He shrugs the moment away.

“What’re you thinking of?” he asks instead.

“Prob’ly the gnocchi,” Gene replies, and of course, his Italian accent is just as perfect as his French one. Babe wonders if he knows the language or is just naturally perfect at everything. “You?”

“The chicken parmesan I think,” Babe says, and just thinks _fuck it_ , “And a strawberry milkshake.” Gene huffs out a little laugh at that, and Babe gives him a mock-glare. “What? Am I not allowed to enjoy a delicious fruit and dairy beverage in peace?”

“Just wonderin’ whether you drink it because it matches your hair, or whether drinkin’ it’s what turned your hair red in the firs’ place.”

Babe stares. “Is your name Bill Guarnere? Because he’s said the same fucking thing to me every time I order one.” Gene just shrugs and hides his grin behind his menu. Babe rolls his eyes and signals Sidney the waiter, who reaches their table with a pen and notepad already poised and ready in his hands.

“What’ll it be, fellas?” They order their food and Sidney jots it down faster than Babe’s ever written in an exam. When he leaves with another friendly grin, Babe gives a low whistle.

“I’d hate to work in a restaurant,” he tells Gene. “Knowing me, I’d probably fuck up everyone’s orders and trip over trying to carry too many dishes at once.”

Gene laughs. “Probably,” he agrees, mimicking Babe’s pronunciation of the word.

“Shuddup.”

The food arrives fairly quickly, considering how busy the restaurant is. Once again, Babe’s surprised by how easy it is to talk to Gene when they’re alone together. The conversation just seems to flow from one topic to the next, with only a handful of awkward pauses that Babe quickly covers over by cracking a joke or saying something equally stupid; anything to keep the smile on Gene’s face. Afterwards, Babe insists on paying the bill, despite Gene’s protestations.

“Just lemme do this, would you? Get yourself looked after for once, instead of the other way round.” Babe has his arms crossed, ready for an argument, but Gene just gives him one of those strangely intense looks he’s been using on Babe a lot lately, and steps back to let Babe hand over the money. He keeps that intense look on his face during the walk to the movie theatre, and even inside when they’re lining up to buy their tickets, Gene keeps on glancing at Babe as if he’s a puzzle Gene just can’t figure out how to put together.

“What are we seeing, then?” Babe asks to try and break the awkwardness, and Gene turns a critical eye on the movie timetable, even though Babe knows he’s probably already picked out a movie.

“How’s Avengers sound to you?” Gene asks, and Babe grins.

“You kiddin’ me? I’ve been waiting to see it for months,” Babe laughs, and when Gene smiles back at him, all the superhero movies in the world can’t compare to the sudden rush of warmth that floods through his chest, straight from his heart.

They buy their tickets separately and head straight into the theatre, grabbing seats right up against the balcony so tall douchebags can’t sit in front of either of them. There’s still ten minutes until the promos are scheduled to start, so Babe tucks into the popcorn he bought at the candy bar. Gene looks at him exasperatedly. “How are you still hungry?” he asks, but his voice is fond.

“You can’t have a movie without popcorn, dude,” Babe replies, and before he can think better of it, proffers the box at Gene, shaking it enticingly. A few kernels fall out onto the floor.

“Nice one,” Gene says, deadpan, but takes a handful of popcorn all the same. Babe considers this a win.

“So I didn’t know you were into comics,” he says after a moment. “Or the movies, at least.”

Gene shrugs. “I wasn’t really, until we moved up here. Then I sorta fell in love with them, you know, the orphaned kids who grew up into somethin’ great. Made me feel like I could make somethin’ of myself, when I’d never really thought about it before.” He falls quiet and looks away, as though he’s said too much and is regretting it. Babe swallows around the lump in his throat, takes a deep breath, and reaches out a hand to rest reassuringly on Gene’s forearm.

“It’s okay to talk about them, you know,” he says hesitantly, as Gene meets his eyes. “If you ever need to I’m more than happy to listen.” He pulls his hand away, and Gene lets out a soft _ah_ sound, like a gush of air. Babe sees his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat, and then it’s Gene who’s reaching across the armrest with his left hand, tangling his fingers with those of Babe’s right, and the lights are beginning to dim so Babe can’t see clearly now, but even in the dimness Gene’s eyes are bright and determined, and his palm is sweaty in Babe’s own, making Babe think that maybe Gene is just as nervous about all of this as he is.

The ads begin to play, some stupid promo for a car dealership, and Babe, gently, softly, so lightly that he doesn’t know if it’ll even be felt, squeezes Gene’s hand.

Gene squeezes back.

Babe’s heart gives a flutter in his chest as he turns away to watch the movie screen, but even without looking at him, Gene is a constant presence by his side. When the actual film finally starts to play, their hands are still clasped together on the armrest, and Babe isn’t planning on moving his anytime soon.

 

***

 

Despite having anxiously waited for months to see the movie, Babe doesn’t think he watches more than half of it. His eyes keep drifting over to where Gene is sitting, hyperaware of their entwined hands, and sometimes when he glances over Gene is looking back at him, too. Babe blushes and looks quickly away towards the screen, but Steve Rogers ain’t got nothing on Gene Roe.

They stay for the post-credits scene, but once again Babe finds it difficult to concentrate on Thanos when Gene is _right there_ , holding his goddamn hand like he’s been doing for the past two and a half hours. Babe’s heart is beating way too fast to be healthy.

“So,” Gene says, breaking the silence between them once the credits start rolling again. “Where to next?”

Babe checks his watch. It’s a little after 10 pm, but his ma has long since stopped worrying about what time he gets home. He gives Gene a tiny, nervous grin. “That ice-cream parlour down the road makes a mean rum and raisin.”

“Oh yeah?” Gene stands, and in doing so lets go of Babe’s hand. He waits for Babe to get to his feet as well before reaching out and grabbing it again. “This okay?” he asks, voice soft and small, and Babe can’t find the words to tell him that yes, of course, it’s _more_ than okay, so he just nods. Gene smiles.

“Well since this is a date an’ all,” Gene says as they walk out of the cinema, “I think s’only fair I shout you dessert.” Babe is about to complain, but the determined look on Gene’s face makes the words die on his lips. He shrugs instead. “But if you think I’m gettin’ you that nasty-ass rum and raisin, you got another thing comin’, Edward.”

“Excuse me?” Babe says indignantly as they step out into the cool night air. “How dare you insult rum and raisin ice-cream like that? And I’m sorry, but it feels like this is the deal-breaker in our relationship.” Gene laughs, and Babe grows bold. “It’s rum and raisin or nothing, baby!” he says dramatically, throwing his head back and cracking his neck in the process. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“Shit, Babe, you okay?” Gene’s voice is laced with concern, and Babe grimaces. Long, warm fingers gently run over his cheeks and the back of his neck, and it’d be sort of sexy if it didn’t hurt so much.

“Yeah, m’fine,” he says straightening up and cracking his neck in the other direction. “If I ever look like I’m considering a career in musical theatre, hit me, wouldja?” Gene still looks worried, his hands hovering only inches from Babe’s face. “I said _I’m fine_ , Gene,” Babe sighs exasperatedly. “You can quit worrying.” They continue walking towards the ice-cream parlour, when a thought strikes Babe and he stops in his tracks. “Hey, Gene, you called me Babe!”

Gene blinks. “I did? When?”

“Just now!”

Gene looks contemplative for a moment. “Babe,” he repeats, in his awfully low and awfully attractive register, and Babe shivers. Gene meets his eyes. “Guess I did.”

They start walking again, and are almost at the door of the ice-cream parlour when Babe laughs, looks at Gene, and says, “ _Baaabe,_ ” in a terrible attempt at imitating him. Gene rolls his eyes.

“Heffron, order your goddamn ice-cream,” he drawls out, pushing Babe through the parlour door.

 

***

 

They wander from the parlour to the empty little playground on the corner of the block, sitting down on the swing set and absently lolling to and fro. Babe was going to order rum and raisin just out of spite, but changed his mind at the last minute and got mint choc chip. It’s almost as good as the rum and raisin, but he’s not complaining.

Gene, bless his cotton socks, has rainbow. It makes him look like a little kid, the blue and pink and yellow swirls atop a waffle cone, and Babe’s heart does a funny flip-flop in his chest that makes it ache. What he wouldn’t give to spend every one of his Friday nights like this.

“I’m scared,” Babe says after a while of comfortable silence. Gene twists the chains of his swing to turn and face him, and Babe does the same.

“Of what?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Graduating. College. Prom. Take your pick.” He licks his ice-cream and prays he ain’t got green sauce all over his face. Gene gently kicks his feet.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be scared of,” he says softly, meeting Babe’s gaze with a smile. “Graduating’s easy, and you’ll love college.”

Babe tils his head to the side. “And prom?”

Gene holds his gaze, steady and determined. “It’ll be over before you know it. ‘Course, havin’ a date’ll make things a whole lot easier.”

Babe’s heart stops beating for one long, suspended moment. “Is this you asking me to prom, Gene?” he says faintly, afraid he heard wrong, afraid Gene was just pulling his leg, afraid tonight’s been one big practical joke—

Except Gene’s looking at him, and he’s blushing, and Babe’s never seen Gene blush before. “Is this you sayin’ yes?” is what he says, and Babe’s heart beats again. He lets out a choked, relieved breath of laughter. The ice-cream has grown sticky in his hand but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you that for months,” he admits, standing from his swing to deposit the last part of his ice-cream cone into the trashcan. Gene looks at him quizzically, and he spreads his now empty hands. “I’ve been looking at you for years. _Looking_ looking.”

He sees Gene’s Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat as he swallows heavily. “How many years is years?” he asks, and his voice is rough.

“I dunno. Freshman year is when I realised what you mean to me but…” he gives a shrug. “Probably a lot longer.”

Gene brings his hand up to his mouth and worries at his thumbnail. “Reckon I still got you beat,” he says simply. “First day I met you I think I knew. Just took me a while to figure it out.”

Babe stares. “And Renee…” he trails off, everything finally, _finally_ coming together. “Renee knew. That you—” Gene nods jerkily. “She knew about me, too. About the way I feel. About you.” Gene meets his eyes again, and it feels as though all the air has been punched out of Babe’s stomach. “And she never said—”

“No.”

“Figures.” They stare at each other for a few long moments under the warm glow of the streetlight, and Babe feels something warm and buttery melt inside of him. “Wish she had, though. Said something.” He takes a small, tentative step towards Gene, who’s still sitting down on the swing and is now looking at Babe with something like wonder in his eyes.

“And why’s that?” Gene asks, tilting his head back to keep looking at Babe.

“We would’ve had more time.”

“Time?” Gene reaches out his hands, fingers pale in the dim light, and hooks them around Babe’s belt loops, drawing him close. Babe forgets how to breathe. “To do what?”

“ _This_ ,” Babe says, in a voice barely a whisper, before bending down and tilting forward and pressing his chapped lips softly, gently, against Gene’s.

Neither of them moves for the first few seconds of the kiss. Babe’s eyes are closed, his other senses heightened, and he can smell the cheap aftershave Gene is wearing, can taste the sweet residue of ice-cream on his lips, can hear the soft puff of breath from his nose. They are still, almost poised, until Gene makes a weak noise in the back of his throat and twists his fingers into Babe’s hair and yeah, okay, _this_ is what a kiss is meant to be like.

They break apart once it becomes hard for Babe to breathe. He opens his eyes to find Gene staring right back at him, lashes long and almost radiant, lips swollen and kiss-bruised. “I love you,” Babe breathes out, the words escaping almost involuntarily, and it feels as though he has fallen over some great precipice, into the mist and clouds below.

Gene catches him. “ _Je t'aime aussi_ ,” he says into the space between them, and Babe feels it all over.

 

***

 

Babe spends the majority of Sunday in a perpetual daydream. His ma gives him a knowing smile as he comes down for breakfast in the morning, but says nothing, and for that Babe is grateful. If she had said something, he doesn’t know if he’d have been able to stop himself from blurting out every wonderful, magical moment from last night.

He does get some work done, because he isn’t stupid. Pup curls up on his lap while he’s practising for his French monologue, and he absently scratches behind her ears while he tries to remember the proper past tense conjugations. All the while, however, Gene is a constant pressure at the back of his mind, distracting Babe every few minutes or so and proving to be far more of a hindrance than a help. But in all honesty, Babe enjoys the distractions. He likes remembering the way Gene tasted, the feel of his lips and the warmth of his breath as it ghosted over Babe’s cheek. He gets so lost in reliving their kisses that it isn’t until late that night, when he’s lying in bed and thinking about the curve of Gene’s jaw and the softness of his eyes, that he remembers the secret he’s meant to be keeping from the very person he’s spent the last twenty-four hours mooning over.

“Shit,” Babe says to his ceiling, thinking about Gene and his stupid self-righteous independence, and the very likely fact that when he finds out what Babe and Renee have done—never mind that it wasn’t much, never mind that the money is actually from Gene’s grandma and not charity out of either of their pockets, never mind the words he whispered against Babe’s lips in the park last night as the stars twinkled above their heads like so many fireflies—never mind any of that, because when Gene hears about what they’ve done, he’s going to take one look at their act of friendship and see it as one of pity. And never mind the good intentions behind it—Gene doesn’t take pity well.

Babe closes his eyes with a frustrated sigh and rolls onto his side, facing the wall. All he needs to do is get through exams, cherish the precious moments he’s already had with Gene, and prepare for the worst. That’s all he can do, really.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep that night.

 

***

 

His Econ exam is first up the next day, and surprisingly Babe doesn’t feel too bad about it. When he comes out of the classroom at half past eleven, it’s to see Gene leaning up casually against the lockers on the other side of the hallway, looking for all the world as though he should have a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Hi,” Babe says nervously as he walks over. Gene looks at him and his smile is blinding.

“Hey,” he says softly in return, and before Babe can ask what is and isn’t allowed in front of everyone, Gene is leaning forward, curling his fingers around Babe’s jaw, and pulling him in for a quick, soft kiss. Babe lets out a small sound when they separate, staring at Gene with wide eyes, but the other boy just grins and tangles their hands together, Babe’s left with Gene’s right.

“Did you even have an exam today?” Babe asks as the walk down the corridor together, slightly bewildered.

“Nah,” Gene says, blushing a little. “I came in to see how you’re doin’. My first one’s tomorrow.”

“You could’ve just called, you know.”

Gene shrugs. “Guess I just wanted to see you in person.” He shoots Babe a glance out of the corner of his eye. “That okay?”

Babe swallows around the sudden obstruction in his throat. “It’s perfect,” he whispers, scared if he speaks too loudly Gene will come to his senses and run for the hills—but then he remembers their mutual confessions Saturday night, and realises with a jolt that Gene isn’t going anywhere. Not for a while, at least.

Babe squeezes their clasped hands tighter, and lets Gene walk him to the bus stop. When the bus arrives only a few minutes later, Babe gives Gene a swift kiss on his cheekbone, just below his right eye, and feels Gene’s eyelashes flutter in response. “Love you,” Babe says quietly, and waves from the window as the driver pulls away from the kerb. Gene waves back, and is still waving when the bus rounds the corner and he disappears from sight.

 

***

 

The rest of the week passes quickly, and he doesn’t see Gene again until Friday, because all of their exams had clashed. But Friday means French, means Gene sitting on one side of Babe and Renee on the other, waiting outside the classroom for their teacher to call them in one by one for their monologues. Neither Gene nor Renee look nervous, but that’s probably got everything to do with the fact that they both speak French fluently at home. It makes Babe feel more than a little stupid.

As if sensing his thoughts, Gene lays a comforting hand on Babe’s jiggling thigh and presses down, firmly but gently. “You’ll be fine,” he says with a smile. “I believe in you.”

Babe would very much like to lean over and kiss the smile from Gene’s lips, but at that moment the door opens and Ms. Marks calls out Gene’s name. “Good luck,” Babe tells him, a little redundantly, but Gene’s eyes say _thank you_ anyway.

When the door closes behind Gene, Renee immediately turns and punches Babe in the shoulder, giggling. “I can’t believe you finally got your act together. I owe Stella ten bucks now, thanks.”

Babe gives her a shocked look. “You were _betting_ on us?”

“Yeah?” Renee shrugs. “I had my money on prom, but I guess you two are smarter than you look. I _am_ happy for you, though.” She looks Babe in the eye and smiles widely. “You two are made for each other. Âmes sœurs.” _Soulmates._ Babe hides his smile in the sleeve of his jumper, which he also uses to surreptitiously wipe away the sudden wetness in his eyes. Renee probably sees him do so, because subtlety really isn’t his strong point, but for once she doesn’t say a word.

Babe thinks about what’s been troubling him since Sunday night, and sighs. “We still have to tell him, you know. About med school. Dunno if he’ll still like me after that.”

Renee gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Don’t be daft, of course he will. He’ll be angry, that’s for sure, and might not speak to you for a little while, but he’ll still like you.” When Babe doesn’t say anything, Renee grabs his chin and tugs it until he’s facing her. “Hey. He is _in love_ with you, Edward. Not many people can say that at eighteen.”

“Well, you know what they say about high school sweethearts,” Babe says, meaning it to come of light-heartedly, but the words are heavy and pang something deep inside of him.

“Well, you know what _I_ say?” Renee asks, not continuing until Babe meets her eyes. “Screw the stereotype. Hell, you already have. You love Gene, and Gene loves you, and you’re going to college together, and the future is the future. You can’t change it. Not yet.”

Babe lets out a huff of laughter, which sounds horrifyingly like a sob. “The future sounds like a douchebag.” This time it’s Renee who laughs.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. You just gonna find a way to stick it to him.” Gene comes out of the classroom then, and nods at Babe, who stands shakily.

“Give her hell,” Gene says, kissing Babe dryly on the lips, and Babe grins. Screw the stereotype.

 

***

 

The exam isn’t all that horrific, surprisingly. It could’ve been a lot worse, and a lot harder, but Ms Marks is a decent teacher and for that, Babe is grateful. She gives him a smile once it’s over and he feels like maybe—just maybe—he might’ve gotten an A. The thought is enough to put a grin on his face as he exits the classroom, which Gene promptly kisses as soon as he’s near enough to do so.

Renee leaves to give her monologue, looking as casual and calm as ever. Babe curls up against Gene as they sit and wait, feeling a lot like his pet cat, and wonders idly whether it’s true that owners inherit the characteristics of their pets, or whether it’s the other way around. He asks Gene as much, who just chuckles.

“I don’ rightly know, Edward,” he says, and Babe can feel the rumbling in his chest at the words. “But if’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t start sheddin’ on me.” This time it’s Babe who laughs, and Gene makes a small, contented noise in the back of his throat when he does.

Renee emerges a few minutes later, completely unperturbed, and links her arms through Babe’s and Gene’s as they head towards the school entrance. Babe’s footsteps feel light, as though he’s walking on air, and it has everything to do with the fact that, not only was this his final high school exam ever, he’ll be graduating in less than two weeks, side-by-side with his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s best friend without whom Babe probably wouldn’t have a boyfriend in the first place. From where he’s standing, life looks pretty damn good.

 

***

 

Of course, that’s when it all goes to shit.

They’re at Winter’s celebrating when Gene’s mobile goes off and he answers it with an apologetic shrug in Babe’s direction. “ _Ouais_?” he says softly into the phone, turning towards the window. He frowns slightly at whatever the person on the other end of the line says. “Slow down, slow down, _plaire_.” Gene rubs his hand over his brow and sighs. “ _Je reviendrai à la maison, attends moi_.” He hangs up and turns back to Renee and Babe with a rueful smile. “I gotta get home, Maw-Maw’s in a bit of a state.” Almost as one, Renee and Babe stand together, shouldering their bags. Gene looks confused.

“If you think I’m letting you catch the bus, you’re an idiot,” Renee informs him, before darting over to the register to pay for their coffees. Babe just smiles at Gene and squeezes his hand.

“Since I’ve got nothing better to do…” he teases, grinning when Gene rolls his eyes. If Gene is able to take a joke right now, then the situation can’t be too serious. Babe’s beyond relieved. It wouldn’t be fair to Gene for something terrible to happen now—not now.

Renee walks back over, smiles, and leads them out the door towards her car. Babe relinquishes shotgun for Gene (who looks slightly carsick at the realisation that Renee’s going to have to reverse out of her parking spot) and soon enough they’re driving unsteadily along to Gene’s gran’s house. Renee fiddles with the radio but gives up after a while when all she gets is static. They spend the rest of the ride in comfortable silence, Babe on his phone answering a text from Bill.

They reach Gene’s house just as Babe fires back what he believes to be quite a witty repartee to an innuendo-laced message from Bill. He pockets his phone and jumps out of the car with Gene, giving him a smile. “I’ll walk you in,” he says softly, taking his boyfriend’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Gene squeezes gratefully back and leads Babe up the cobbled path.

He pauses at the door and reaches under the closest pot plant for the door key. Babe rolls his eyes. “Stellar security system there, genius,” he says, and Gene pinches him in the side. When the door’s unlocked he pockets rather than replaces the key.

“You can, uh, go now,” Gene says, suddenly awkward. He looks adorable, like a confused sleepy panda, and Babe gently cups his face with his hands and kisses him, softly and sweetly. Gene leans into the kiss, beginning to smile, and from the car Renee beeps the horn and makes retching noises out the window in disgust. Babe doesn’t care. He pulls away and smooths back a strand of flyaway hair from Gene’s forehead, before kissing him there too.

“See you later,” he says, with another quick peck on the lips, but before he’s taken more than two steps back from Gene, the front door swings open and Gene’s gran stands in the frame, squinting out at the both of them.

“Edward?” she asks suddenly, and Babe feels his insides turn to ice. “Is that you?” Gene looks from his grandma to Babe, frowning.

“How do you know my gran?” he asks, distrust colouring his voice, and Babe’s heart thumps. His mouth goes suddenly dry, and he doesn’t know what to say. He shoots a desperate glance over his shoulder at Renee, but she’s texting someone in the car—probably Stella—and doesn’t look up. Babe swallows and faces Gene again, searching for words.

“He came to visit me the other day!” Adelaide says, smiling toothily. “So worried about my grandson, he was.” She gives Gene a conspiratorial wink. “Eugene’s a lovely lad, you know. _Mon petit fils._ ”

Gene swallows, hard enough that Babe can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. “What’s going on? Edward?” The way he says Babe’s name is unfriendly, uncomfortable, nothing like the teasing way he usually says it. Babe sighs, and bites the bullet.

“Renee and I visited a few weeks ago. We wanted to talk to your gran about—about—” Under Gene’s glare, Babe falters. He has to look away before continuing. “About sending you to college. You said you couldn’t go, but we know more than anyone how hard you’ve worked for it and—” he glances back at Gene, “We wanted to help. So we came here.”

Gene just stares, his pale face gone even whiter in anger. “So, what—you thought you’d come here to extort my maw-maw? Is that it?”

“No!” Babe says, horrified. “We weren’t— _extorting_ her, God, no. We just wanted to talk to her, tell her what the problem was, and see if we could fix—”

“I’m not broken!” Gene says in a loud voice that’s verging on a shout. Babe hears a car door slam as, presumably, Renee climbs out and hurries towards them. “I’m not something to be fixed, I’m not a fucking _machine_ —”

“I know, we know, I never said you were—” Babe says, but Gene’s on a roll. Babe hasn’t seen him this furious since his fight with Cobb, forever and ever ago.

“My family life is none of your business, Heffron,” Gene spits. “You had _no right_ to barge in here on your own and stick your nose into my personal shit! It’s _personal_ for a _reason_ you—”

“Gene, please, we were only—” Renee tries to break in, reaching out a hand to Gene’s shoulder, but he shrugs her off angrily.

“Don’t even get me started on you,” he bites out, turning back to Babe. “You had no right,” he says again, and this time his voice is calmer, more controlled—almost like they’re in the eye of the storm Babe can see blazing around inside Gene’s crystalline eyes. “I don’t need fixing, and I certainly don’t need it from you.” Without another word he turns, wraps and arm around his gran’s shoulders and steers them both inside the house, slamming the door behind him. The audible click of a lock can be heard.

Babe swallows heavily and glances over at Renee. She’s staring at the closed door, expression tight. “That went well,” she says, glancing over and meeting Babe’s eyes. “C’mon. I’ll drive you home.”

Babe doesn’t want to go—he wants to stay on this doorstep until Gene comes out again, wants to apologise and explain himself _properly_ , wants to make Gene see that he’s not something to be fixed, because there’s nothing wrong with him—wants him to know that there’s nothing wrong with asking for a little help. Except Babe knows Gene well enough to know that this kind of argument won’t just blow over quickly. He’ll have to wait it out, and it’s probably not the best idea to do so on Gene’s front porch.

So Babe follows Renee back to the car, swallowing down the rising bile in his throat, and it’s only when he’s finally home and in his room with Pup curled against his chest that the reality of what just happened comes crashing down on him, and he buries his face in his cat’s fur to hide the tears that just won’t stop coming.

 

***

 

He spends the weekend wallowing, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. Renee calls him a few times but he always declines the calls. He texts her to let her know he’s alive and then turns his phone off. He’s not really interested in communicating right now.

If his ma notices that anything’s wrong, she doesn’t say anything. She does make his favourite dish on Saturday night, though, and ruffles his hair like she used to when he was a kid, so she can probably tell something’s up but has the foresight to realise that bringing it up but not be the best thing for Babe. So he just accepts her hugs and her mugs of hot chocolate and lounges around the house with Pup in tow. It’s kind of pathetic, but Babe is past the point of caring.

Monday rolls around like it always does and Babe drags himself to school. He declines a lift from Bill, instead catching the bus he hasn’t caught in over a year, and makes his way to class. It’s pretty pointless, seeing as though it’s the last week of school and exams are over, which means there is literally no work for them to be doing, so the teacher puts on _Jurassic Park_ and doesn’t even complain when some of the conversations drown out the movie. The rest of his classes follow in a similar fashion, and Babe is just thankful he doesn’t have French on Mondays. Gene is nowhere to be seen at lunchtime, but Renee and Stella continue to sit with Babe’s friends who, after shooting Babe a few worried glances, carry on as if nothing at all is the matter. Babe has great friends.

He goes home after lunch since he has a free track and no detention after school to keep him hanging around. Monday afternoon goes by much the same as the weekend did, and on Tuesday morning Babe accepts a lift from Bill to school.

He probably should’ve seen the lecture coming.

“So Renee told me what happened,” Bill begins when they’re stopped at a traffic light. Babe shifts in his chair and says nothing, and Bill sighs. “Look, kid, I know you meant well, okay? It’s just—people like Gene, they don’t like getting help for anything, because they think it means that you think they’re worthless.”

“I don’t—”

“I didn’t say you did. But you gotta understand—from what I hear, Gene’s had a rough time of it since he was a kid. He’s been looking after himself for a long time now, and he’s used to that independence. It’s not easy for him to let someone in after everything that’s happened.”

Babe thinks this over for a while. “But he did let me in,” he finally says. “We—we were dating, it was good. I don’t get it.”

“Just because you’re dating someone doesn’t mean you tell ‘em everything. It took me weeks before I told Frances about Henry.” Babe startles. Bill almost never mentions the name of his older brother, who died fighting in Afghanistan a few years back. “I think it’s probably the same for Gene. He’s so used to shutting people out, or getting shut out himself, that it’s second nature for him. I know you meant well by trying to help him—but maybe doing it behind his back wasn’t the greatest idea.”

“But we _had_ to,” Babe stresses, drumming his fingers on the dash. “He wouldn’t have accepted the help otherwise.” When Bill is silent, Babe realises what he just said. “Oh. Right. Yeah. I think—I think I get it.” He sighs. “So what do I do? This isn’t like before, when he saw me at the café with Stella—he was _so angry_ on Friday, Bill, you wouldn’t believe it. I just don’t know if I can fix that.”

Bill pulls into the school parking lot and finds a park under some shade. He turns off the ignition and faces Babe. “I’m not gonna lie to you, kid. It’s gonna be hard, rebuilding that trust. But if you just try and tell him the truth, explain what you meant by what you did and why you did it—well, he’s a good guy. Stubborn as he is, I’m sure he’ll come round.” Bill opens the car door and hops out, Babe following suit. “Besides,” he says, locking the car behind them and heading towards the front doors, “the way he looks at you? There’s no way he’ll give you up forever.”

Babe doesn’t have an answer to that, so instead he just follows Bill to English and tries not to get his hopes up.

 

***

 

When he gets to French, Gene is already in the classroom and sitting at their desk as if nothing has changed. Babe walks over tentatively, taking his usual seat, but Gene doesn’t say a word. Babe isn’t sure whether or not he should break the silence or wait for Gene to do so first, but he’s saved from making the decision by the arrival of Renee and their teacher, who decides to follow suit with every other teacher and just play them a film. The one she chooses is actually French, so maybe that’s her way of convincing herself that the class is actually learning something.

The movie is pretty boring, actually, and soon enough Babe and Renee are passing notes back and forth. They’re carefully avoiding the topic of Gene, who is still sitting right next to them and who is still not saying a word, seemingly fixed on the film’s hard-to-follow plot (although maybe that’s because Babe doesn’t really understand the French in it). Babe feels like a coward, but he just can’t bring himself to say something to Gene—not here, not in front of all these people.

The bell for lunch goes and quick as lightning Gene is up from his seat and out the door. Babe scrambles to pack his stuff away and follow him, but Renee just gives a shooing motion and tells him “I’ll take care of it.” Babe smiles gratefully and dashes from the room, leaving his belongings behind.

He catches up with Gene outside in the quad. It’s hot out here, achingly so, but since Gene’s from Louisiana Babe guesses he’s used to the heat. He doesn’t react when Babe leans against the wall next to him, doesn’t even blink—and that does it. Babe moves to stand directly in Gene’s field of vision, their eyes meeting, and implores Gene not to look away. He doesn’t, but the icy stare Gene meets Babe’s gaze with bites into him hard enough to sting.

“I’m sorry,” Babe says first, because it’s important that Gene know that Babe never intended to hurt him. Gene blinks but doesn’t look away. “I’m so sorry, Gene, I never meant for it to go like this.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and probably messing up his hair (it was a lost cause anyway). “Look, if you’ll let me, I just wanna explain myself.” Bill’s words from earlier echo in his head. “I want you to know what I did and why I did it.”

Gene doesn’t say anything, but gives a nod of his head so incremental Babe might’ve missed it if he hadn’t spent years honing his Gene-radar. He clears his throat and starts from the beginning.

Throughout the explanation, Gene doesn’t react much. He’ll blink, swallow, scratch behind his ear, but nothing to remotely suggest how he feels about Babe’s speech. Babe doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad, so he just ploughs on.

“I know you like sorting things out on your own, believe me,” Babe says finally, after most of the lunch break has passed. “And I had no intention of intruding on your private business or breaking your trust in any way whatsoever. Please believe me.” Gene blinks. “I just—we just wanted to help. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what more than friends do. And—and I know you can take care of yourself. But that doesn’t mean you have to.” A conversation they had months ago echoes in Babe’s head as he says those words, and by the way Gene is looking at him, softer and gentler than he has been throughout the entire retelling, he remembers too.

_I can take care of myself, Gene._

_I know you can. Doesn’t mean you have to._

The bell for the end of lunch goes then, and both Babe and Gene startle. Babe realises how close he’s been standing to Gene, and takes a few hurried steps back. Gene watches him with something almost like fondness in his eyes as Babe waits nervously for him to answer.

“I… understand why you did what you did,” he says finally, clutching his books to his chest. “And… I guess I should be thanking you. For giving me a future.” He looks away from Babe with a sigh. “But I don’t agree with how you did it. And if we’re gonna be together, I need to know that I can trust you.”

“You can trust me.”

Gene looks back at him and smiles waveringly, almost as though he’s on the verge of tears. “I used to,” he says, and yeah, he’s definitely about to cry. “But I’m not sure anymore. And—I need time. To make sure. D’you understand?”

Babe swallows thickly. Gene isn’t the only one with tears prickling at the back of his throat. “Yeah. Yeah I do, I—I understand. I’m sorry,” he says again, because somehow, even though Gene’s not angry at him anymore, Babe’s heart is breaking all the same.

“I know you are,” Gene says simply, smiling at Babe in the way he used to smile at him, before. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” And with that, he steps back inside the main building, leaving Babe outside in the blazing heat and late for his last class of the day.

 

***

 

Renee catches up with him before Econ and hands him his bag. “Did you talk to him?” she asks worriedly, biting her lip. Stella is trailing behind her, and gives Babe a sympathetic smile when their gazes catch.

“Yeah,” Babe says, and the word sounds dull even to his ears. “He said he needed time.”

Renee nods. “I’m not surprised,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll talk to him after school, see if I can get anything else from him.” She opens her mouth again, as if about to say something else, but closes it and is silent for a few seconds. Babe rolls his eyes.

“What.”

“It’s just—does this mean no prom?” she says nervously, shooting Stella a glance over her shoulder. “It’s in less than a week, so—”

“So I don’t know,” Babe bites out, sharper than he’d intended. Renee flinches back a little and he sighs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. It didn’t exactly feel like the right time.” She nods and gives him a shaky smile. Stella reaches out a hand to clasp Babe’s upper arm and squeezes comfortingly. Babe smiles at them both and hitches his bag over his shoulder. “Anyway, I should really get going. I’ll see you two later, okay?”

He hurries to Econ and spends the period replaying his conversation with Gene over and over in his mind. It went as well as he could have expected, considering everything, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. He thinks about what Renee said and suppresses a groan. He hadn’t even _thought_ about prom when he was talking to Gene; it hadn’t even crossed his mind. But now, now it sits like a heavy weight in the bottom of his stomach, a dull pressure that won’t ease up. He knows it would be unfair to Gene to ask him to continue to go to prom together as if nothing has gone wrong, but at the same time he desperately wishes he could—he wonders what’ll happen to their prom campaigns if they don’t show up at the dance together.

The bell rings for the end of class and Babe hurries to meet Bill in the parking lot. He doesn’t tell him what happened exactly with Gene, but Bill must see something on his face because he gives Babe a comforting smile over the gear stick and lets him choose the radio station for the ride home.

 

***

 

The rest of the week passes slowly and quickly all at once. Babe’s classes drag by, filled as they are with nothing but time-wasting activities, but the afternoons blur together and soon enough it’s the weekend, and _fuck_ , prom is in three days. Babe realises this fact with a jolt, then realises the only tux in the house is one of his dad’s old ones in the attic, and calls Renee in a panic. With an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, Renee and Stella pick Babe up on Sunday to take him shopping, scolding him for not doing it sooner.

“Well I’m sorry if I was a little preoccupied,” Babe shoots back, but Stella just giggles and Renee rolls her eyes. “What are you two wearing, anyway?”

“It’s a surprise,” Renee informs him, sifting through the racks of rental suits for Babe’s size. Stella digs out her phone and brings up a picture, showing it to Babe excitedly. Her dress is yellow and glittery, and Babe knows it will suit her perfectly. He grins.

The tux Babe ends up buying isn’t actually a rental but a second-hand one that’s in great condition. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was made for him, so well does it fit. Renee then insists on buying him a boutonniere from the florist, vetoing all of Babe’s flower choices and picking a baby blue agapanthus arrangement. When he asks why she chose blue, she just gives him a wink. He has a sinking feeling about what she’s up to, but doesn’t say anything—maybe because the blue looks rather nice, or maybe (probably) because he’s hoping that her plan will work.

When everything is paid for and packed away in Renee’s car, the three of them head to Winter’s for lunch. When Stella goes up to order, Babe leans across the table and catches Renee’s eye. “So how’d your talk with Gene go?” he asks, because he hasn’t had the chance to yet. She gives him a sad smile.

“Much the same as yours, I expect. He wasn’t happy about what we did, but he said he understood.” Babe nods; that’s pretty much what Gene said to him. “I just—” Renee sighs and looks down at her hands. “I just don’t want to lose him,” she whispers, voice small, and Babe suddenly remembers that Gene and Renee have been friends forever, ever since she moved here. “We’ve been through so much, he—you have no idea what he’s done for me. How he’s helped me.” She sets her shoulders and meets Babe’s eyes, her own gaze steely. “He was the first person I was Renee to. He helped me tell my parents about it. And—” she laughs, shifting a little to let Stella take a seat beside her, “You should’ve seen him when some jerk called me by my dead name. Pretty sure he beat him up worse than Cobb.” Stella reaches out and laces her fingers through Renee’s where they’re resting on the café table. Babe looks at their entwined hands, suddenly realising the enormity of what he’s just been told.

He looks up to meet Renee’s gaze. Her eyes are wet. “Thank you for telling me,” he says earnestly, reaching out his own hand to rest it against hers and Stella’s for just a moment.

Nix comes by with their drinks, then, and the moment is broken. Lunch resumes as normal, but Babe finds himself drifting off sometimes and thinking about how lucky he is to have made such amazing new friends in his senior year—not just Gene, but Stella and Renee too. He’ll miss them at college, he realises, and the thought of maybe not seeing them again after high school makes him indescribably sad.

 

***

 

And just like that, it’s Monday. Babe’s graduation dawns fresh and bright, not so hot that wearing the blue gowns for hours under the sun is uncomfortable. Babe’s sitting right near Bill and two guys both named Walter (though the taller one insists on being called Smokey, the other just Walt). The ceremony drags on a bit, but when Babe’s name is called and he heads up onto the stage to collect his certificate, spotting his ma and his siblings smiling and waving (and, in the case of his ma, crying) in the crowd, he has never felt prouder in his life.

The valedictorian turns out to be Kitty Grogan, which is unsurprising for everyone in their year. She gives a sweet speech, and Babe finds himself hoping that she wins prom queen, if only so her boyfriend won’t seek out Babe later and punch him in the face for stealing her title. Salutatorian is Webster, which is pretty much expected. Pretentious as he may be, he does have the brains to back up that mouth of his. Babe sees Liebgott clapping slowly and loudly a few seats down, trying to look indifferent but unable to keep the beaming smile from his face. Babe quickly looks away. He knows that smile—it’s the one Gene used to give him. Seeing it on someone else just seems wrong.

 After graduation everyone pretty much heads straight home to get ready for prom. Babe takes his time, dragged around by his ma to find all of his teachers so she can personally thank them. They find Mr Winters last, in conversation with Harry Welsh and his family. When he spots Babe he excuses himself and walks over, reaching out to shake Babe’s ma’s hand.

“Your son has been a pleasure to teach this year, Mrs Heffron,” he says warmly, and she blushes. Oh, Christ, Babe thinks. He looks over at Babe and smiles, eyes twinkling. “Looking forward to tonight, Edward?”

“Yes, sir,” Babe replies.

Winters gives him a wink. “I’ll be rooting for you.” He smiles and shakes Babe’s ma’s hand one more time before walking away to greet another family. Babe’s ma squeezes him around the shoulders and Lucy ruffles his hair from behind. He shoves her away.

“Time for home, kiddo?” she asks, and Babe just rolls his eyes before following them to the car.

 

***

 

Getting ready for prom is easy. _Being_ at prom is the hard part. Bill and Babe arrive stag together—Toccoa High doesn’t allow students from other schools as dates, so Frances had kissed Bill at the door and headed off with Lucy and Babe’s ma—and loiter awkwardly for a while, waiting for their friends to arrive. Most of the other guys in their group have dates—Skip and Malarkey are actually coming together—and thus mostly arrive fashionably late, as do Renee and Stella, who walk in the room in pink and yellow dresses respectively and look absolutely gorgeous. Babe hurries over to them and gives them both bracing hugs, joining in with their laughter.

“You two look amazing,” he says, pulling back from Renee and giving them both once-overs. “Seriously.”

“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” Stella grins, her Australian accent prominent in the words. Babe gives a twirl, but his laughter and spin are abruptly cut short when he spots Gene walking in through the door.

His jaw drops. His heart might have actually stopped. Gene looks _breathtaking._

He’s wearing a tux like most guys here, but unlike the classic black it’s a soft blue that looks a little worn around the edges, but stunning all the same. His shirt is crisp and white and done up by a thin black tie which matches the gelled coif of his inky hair. Babe realises that he was correct in thinking that Renee had matched his boutonniere with Gene’s suit. He looks _stunning._

Gene seems to notice he’s being watched, because he glances over and meets Babe’s gaze. Babe gives him a tentative smile, which Gene returns. He begins to wander over slowly, hands in his pockets. “Hey,” he says as he reaches them, the greeting for everyone but his eyes fixed on Babe. After a moment of awkward silence, Stella gives a squeal and launches herself at Gene, wrapping her arms around his slim frame and squeezing. He looks startled for a moment, but then huffs out a laugh and hugs her back.

“You look amazing,” she gushes when they pull apart, and he returns the compliment. Renee hugs him next, long and tight and silently, and Babe looks away, aware that the moment is intensely private. He looks back when a hand touches his arm to find Gene staring at him softly, the way he used to stare at Babe.

“Hey,” he says again, and Babe is so caught up in his gaze that he almost doesn’t register Renee and Stella slipping quietly away.

“Hey yourself,” he manages to say back, throat suddenly dry. “You look…” He trails off, unable to find the words, but Gene just smiles.

“It was my dad’s,” he says simply, not looking away. “Maw-Maw had it stashed away in the spare room and only remembered it was there yesterday. Thank God it fit well enough.”

“It fits,” Babe assures him, his voice slightly strangled as he lets his eyes wander over the suit. A delicate blush rises in Gene’s cheeks and he finally looks away. Babe wants to kiss him then and there, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment they’re having, and the trust he thinks they’re beginning to rebuild, so he does nothing. Instead, he jerks his head over to the side table. “Punch?” he asks, and Gene follows him over.

No-one’s spiked it this early in the evening, but Babe doesn’t really want to be drunk for this anyway. They sit side-by-side against the wall, watching the couples on the dance floor. Stella and Renee twirl past, waving, and Babe smiles. He turns to look at Gene in profile.

“Renee told me about what a good friend you’ve been to her,” he says carefully, and Gene stills from where he’d been swaying slightly to the music.

“Yeah?” he says, voice neutral. He looks over to Babe, who returns his gaze steadily. “She must think you’re a good friend too if she told you.”

Babe smiles. “We’re lucky to have her.”

“I know,” Gene grins, resting his head back against the wall. “I’ll miss her next year,” he says in a quieter voice. “She’s studying in France. College’s cheaper there, I think.”

Babe lets this sink in. “What about Stella?”

“Boston, I think. But she’s looking into exchange.”

“Thank God for that. I don’t know what I’d do if they broke up. If they can’t stay together, there’s not much hope for the rest of us.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Gene says, and Babe can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve always liked the look of our chances.” Babe’s heart begins to beat so loudly he almost can’t hear the music. He doesn’t dare to look over at Gene—except he does, because there’s some kind of magnetic pull forcing him to turn, and he just can’t resist.

Gene is looking at him all rosebud-soft and smooth edges, and Babe forgets to breathe. “I’m sure,” Gene says, and kisses him.

Babe doesn’t really remember the kiss when they break apart. It feels as though it happened in a dream. He clutches at the lapels of Gene’s jacket and breathes heavily into the space between them, their foreheads touching and their eyes closed. “Do you mean that?” he finally says, hardly daring to ask. He finally opens his eyes and pulls back, Gene doing the same. They stare at each other in the dim rainbow light.

“I miss you,” Gene says simply, “And I want to start over. Is that okay?”

Babe nods dumbly, and Gene leans in for another kiss, but Babe stops him with a hand to his chest before he can close the gap. “You’re sure?” he whispers, needing this reassurance, needing to know that this is okay, this is allowed, this isn’t something they’ll both regret come morning. Gene rolls his eyes and kisses Babe in answer.

They’re still kissing, soft and long and languid, when the call for all prom royalty contenders to head up on stage comes. Babe giggles helplessly as he and Gene hurriedly fix each other’s hair and suits. Their kiss-swollen lips are a lost cause, but hopefully it’s dark enough that no-one will notice.

Judging by the smug looks on the faces of Renee, Stella and Bill in the audience, however, they weren’t quite as subtle as they thought.

Principal Sink steps up to the microphone to make the announcement. A hush descends over the crowd and, almost instinctively, Babe clutches at Gene’s hand. He’s suddenly nervous, though he doesn’t know why, because it’s not like he ever wanted to win in the first place. It had been a _joke_ for Chrissakes. But still his heart rabbits in his chest, and he closes his eyes as Sink opens the envelope.

“Your 2015 prom king and queen are… Eugene Roe and Kitty Grogan!”

Babe opens his eyes amidst the screaming cheers, squeezes Gene’s hand once before letting it go and stepping backwards. Gene looks slightly in shock, but steps forward to receive his crown. Beside him, Kitty is glowing.

The two of them make their way onto the floor for the traditional dance. Babe and the other unlucky contenders file down the stairs and press themselves into the crowd surrounding the royal couple. Babe somehow finds himself at the front, and can’t help but stare at the long, lean lines of Gene’s back as he leads Kitty around. Every time Gene spins to face Babe, their gazes meet, and Gene smiles. Babe feels Renee sidle up next to him and squeeze his hand. “Maybe it’s for the best,” she whispers. “The crown would’ve clashed horribly with your hair.”

Babe bumps her shoulder good-naturedly and watches as Harry Welsh steps in to dance with Kitty instead. Gene backs away with a smile and heads straight over to where Babe is standing, offering him his hand. “May I have this dance,” he says formally, and Babe smiles, wide enough for it to hurt, before accepting.

Gene sweeps him onto the dancefloor and leads him into a waltz that doesn’t quite match up to the music, but Babe doesn’t care. He feels more than sees other couples join in, until they’re no longer dancing alone together. Gene leans in closer, and Babe feels the bump of the crown as it slides down Gene’s forehead and collides with Babe’s.

“Here,” Gene says, breaking away momentarily to place the crown on Babe’s head instead. “A perfect fit, Cinderella,” he smiles, taking Babe’s hands again.

“Are you saying I have a big head?” Babe teases, and Gene laughs. Babe could listen to that laugh forever.

They keep dancing even as the songs change, one after the other, even as the other couples finish up and find a seat. Babe’s feet are sore and his arms are exhausted, but he doesn’t want to stop dancing for the world. He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than he is now, not even when Gene kissed him for the first time (although it’s a close second). “I love you,” he says suddenly, realising he hasn’t said it yet since they made up, and feeling like he has to, like Gene has to know his feelings haven’t changed in the slightest.

Gene kisses him, and Babe feels him smile against his lips. “You sure?” he murmurs when they break apart, and Babe just laughs, and pulls him into another kiss in answer.

**Author's Note:**

> **translations:**
> 
> **the cajun insults were found on various disreputable websites that are probs incorrect. french single word translations are from google translate, sentences/phrases were translated by the incredible rocky, ilu bb thanks so much**
> 
>  _adieu_ = bye  
>  _chéri_ = darling  
>  _voila merde_ (cajun) = go to shit  
>  _couillon_ (cajun) = fool, idiot (literally means testicle, which is an excellent insult imo)  
>  _bonjour_ = hello  
>  _maman_ = mum  
>  _mon dieu_ = my god  
>  _traiteurs_ = cajun healers  
>  _mon cher_ = my dear  
>  _à demain, mes amours_ = see you tomorrow, my loves  
>  _je ne sais pas_ = i don't know  
>  _grand-maman_ = grandma  
>  _moi non plus_ = me neither  
>  _oui_ = yes  
>  _mon fils chéri_ = my darling son  
>  _petit fils_ = grandson  
>  _eugene n'ira pas à la fac_ = eugene isn't going to college  
>  _un médecin_ = a doctor  
>  _il ne partira pas_ = he won't go  
>  _il refuse? _= he won't?__  
>  _pourquoi?_ = why?  
>  _il ne pense pas que tu as assez d'argent_ = he doesn’t think you have enough money  
>  _il veut rester et s'occuper de toi_ = he wants to stay and look after you  
>  _il ne croit pas qu'il le mérite. choisis_ = he doesn’t think he deserves it. pick one  
>  _je peux prendre soin de moi_ = i can take care of myself  
>  _il doit le faire_ = he must  
>  _au revoir_ = goodbye  
>  _je t'aime aussi_ = i love you too  
>  _âmes sœurs_ = soulmates  
>  _ouais_ = yeah  
>  _plaire_ = please  
>  _je reviendrai à la maison, attends moi_ = i'll come home, just wait for me
> 
> yes, renee is trans, and no, i am not, so if i have misrepresented anything please let me know. and yes, lucy is based off my big sister, which i guess is kind of weird, but i needed one and decided to just use my own. i'm sure she wouldn't mind


End file.
